I have already began collecting all of the receipts that I get my hands on in a little notebook I purchased some time ago. I have written down every price quote I get from sales representatives via telephone. I have drawn out invitation plans, studied Martha Stewart’s tips and contacted some bands about possible performances. I have dreamt up dress designs,
drooled over cake pictures and debated over the necessity of an open bar.
I am in the middle of planning what some people call the most important day of their life. I am planning my wedding day.
A few weeks before school was about to start, it finally happened. My former boyfriend, current fiancé, decided he was going to pop the question.
One day while I was at the bracelet emporium I like to call work, he gave me a call telling me to go to the jewelry store (the same one we had been to together a few months before) and find the exact ring size that would fit on my little finger. On my lunch break I practically ran to the jewelry store, picked up the ring that I had my eye on for a while and found out that I wear a size five.
After I reported my findings to the boy, I decided it was up to him. I stepped back and waited rather impatiently.
The store didn’t have my size ring in stock so I was forced to wait even longer for it to arrive. Of course, each passing day seemed to drag along.
I couldn’t help but pester my boy about it. I have looked forward to getting married ever since I was a little girl reading Disney books and wearing fanny packs. When I was younger I wanted a few things: a watch like Penny’s from Inspector Gadget, a pony and a fiancé.
It seemed that I was finally on my way to getting one of these things and one out of three isn’t that bad.
A few days passed before he announced that he had finally picked up his purchase. Now, it was just a matter of time before he worked up the nerve to get down on one knee.
One particularly bad day, he finally did. I was having a really rough morning and an even harder afternoon. Work was pretty crappy, some hubbub was happening at home and I was upset about it all. I went to my boyfriend’s apartment for some consolation and while I was sitting on the couch complaining, he ran to his room, grabbed his Dan Electro guitar and rushed back to my feet to serenade me.
Before I knew it, I was kneeling in front of him, crying, with a ring on my finger. I was finally engaged.
Most of our friends and family members already knew that we were well on our way to marriage. We had started planning the wedding before we even went ring shopping. When we finally announced that everything was official, the major wedding planning began.
My fiancé and I were originally planning on having a little Vegas wedding shindig complete with the Elvis impersonator sometime in mid-November but my dad wasn’t too thrilled when we revealed our plan. He coaxed us into waiting a few months longer and having the type of formal wedding he could invite his friends to. We gave in when he told us he would send us to Vegas after the wedding.
We spent the next few days visiting some chapels, calling some hotels and realizing how expensive weddings can be. We were starting to revert back to the Vegas plan when we found out about a mansion in Redlands. We checked it out, decided it was the right place and my dad placed a deposit.
It now seems that we are all set. Sure, I don’t have my dress yet and we haven’t mailed out the invitations, but at least I have the ring on my finger.
That’s the first step.
Valerie Rojas, a senior journalism major, is editor in chief of the Campus Times. She can be reached by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.