I’m so excited about a little hurdle we just leaped over during the whole wedding planning thing: We decided on a venue and a date, and we just made our first deposit, securing the contract.
Finding a place we loved was harder than I thought it would be. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not … let’s say … traditional. Doing something because everyone else has done it a certain way does not appeal to me. It’s not a very big deal, but it means I don’t want, say, a strapless wedding dress or an indoor ceremony.
I’ve always said my ideal wedding would have a dozen people on it someplace tropical, where I can be barefoot in the sand.
Clearly, that’s not an option. I have a big fat Italian family AND a big fat Assyrian family. (Jeff’s family is neither big nor fat. His invite list is 45. Mine is triple that.) On one side, I am the first cousin to get hitched. (On the other, I’m the 12th, so no big whoop there.)
Instead, we’ve booked it at a country club. We’ll get married under a gazebo on a lake, and then march into a hall to dance, shout and shake our bodies down to the ground. There will be lots of people and lots of food and lots of drink and lots of love.
Man, May 5 is going to get here before I know it.