People have told me I should delegate tasks to people... Like bridesmaids and family members who I don't want to kill. Okay, no problem. Can you buy me some of these pumpkins from Joann Crafts?
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WHISKEY. TANGO. FOXTROT.
But it's probably for the best that these pumpkins don't exist in Florida... Because once they're found, I'd have to work out sending money for their purchase. And I don't even want to know what that would be like. I'll just buy them here, and strap them to the roof of the Jeep with duct tape and kitchen twine. They *should* survive the drive. No worries.
So delegating is a no-go. Even calling mom for help in some tasks is frightening... She's kind of like Skip, in that her favorite line is, "It's okay... I've got it handled." And I'm like, "Do you really?? Do you have this handled?? 'Cause I'm 1,400 miles away and I'm FREAKING OUT and I need to be positively sure that you have this handled in the best way possible. Text me pictures for proof, lady! kthx."
Except I don't really tell her that. I just make a list of the stuff I need her to do, and I put little reminders on my calendar so I know when to remind her, REALLY remind her, FREAK OUT AND REMIND HER AGAIN, and then just worry about it when I get to Florida.
And then there's delegating to Skip... Which should be all happy fun times, but it's not. He makes me kind of stabby with stuff. "Oh yea, I'll do that..." Which secretly means he won't do it in a timely fashion, which will make me anxious, and I'll just do it my damn self so it gets done. It's also a chore to get Skip to pry himself away from ESPN to discuss wedding crap. He mutes the TV... Which means he's just reading the ticker at the bottom instead of listening to me babble about bouttonieres or tablecloths.
OH. AND THE TABLECLOTHS. Did I tell you about Groomzilla and the Not-Ivory-Enough Tablecloths? Maybe I did... I don't remember. But yea, he whined that the Ivory tablecloth sample I ordered was too white. So we ordered this other Ivory one, and it's like, WHOAH BUDDY, in-your-face-ivory. I don't like it. Now it's too ivory. And now Skip is like, "I DON'T CARE PLEASE DON'T KILL ME." So he now has zero opinion. Fantastic.
That there is the "too white" tablecloth, with our three overlay colors... Which mom has tried like, 56,327 times to talk me out of, because they'll be a pain in the ass to iron and make look pretty. But I'm an idiot bride, and this is what has to be on my tables. I love them, and it's happening. DONE. So whoever pisses me off the week before the wedding is getting the job of "overlay ironer." They're gonna get an iron, some starch, an ironing board, and 25 satin thingeys to iron... And like, 5 minutes to do it or else they get stabbed. See! Delegation!
I think I'm a bad bride.
Did I mention I hot-glued a thumbtack to my finger today? Yea, that was pretty awesome. Why was I putting hot glue on thumbtacks? Oh, because I'm insane. Yep. Insane. I was hot-gluing some fall leaf sequin glitter things to thumbtacks to possibly use for our escort cards... Yea, possibly. If I decide to do cards and not just a giant piece of paper with names and table assignments written on it in sharpie. So I may or may not have just glued 140 stupid sequin glitter leaves to thumbtacks for NO APPARENT REASON.
It's definitely too early for cocktails.
In closing, I need this wreath in my life:
...But you'll have to come to Kansas City to buy it for me. It only exists at the Joann Crafts by my house. You can't get it wherever you live.
Vodka, Hot Glue, and Glitter---
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