Last week, as we were trying to merge two people’s visions of what the perfect day looks like, GTB and I decided the best way to narrow our search for a venue would be to get a rough idea of how many people we are likely to invite to the blessed occasion.
So I emailed GTB, his mom, and mine asking that they get started on their lists. Before I could even begin to think about mine, GTB sent me his. It was still a work-in-progress and it was already 167 people long. Knowing that I didn’t want a reception with 300 people, and being a firm believer in wedding party parity, I informed him he’d have to make some cuts.
This touched a nerve apparently.
A days-long conversation about what constitutes “family” and how many sites could hold 250 people ensued. It was heated, it was sensitive, it sparked long pauses, vacant stares, and having to leave the room for a moment. And then, on Friday, a breakthrough: GTB announced that he didn’t care about any of the wedding planning details, he’d leave them all up to my mother and me as long as we didn’t hassle him about his side of the list. We settled on shooting for 200 people, and no more than 250 invitations.
And by “shooting for” I meant “will probably have to make more cuts later, but we’ll stop fighting about it now if I just agree to this.” Because I’m a girl and that’s how I roll.
So the venue hunt began. I started emailing and phoning places to see about tours and hours of operation. I asked GTB to set aside some times for us to go looking. We set up a dinner with the moms to talk about the engagement party. Etc.
On Wednesday night, we looked at two venues. One was, ehn, OK. The other, the Crown, is perfect. It’s funky and weird and really dramatic and built inside what was a turn-of-the-century “gentlemen’s club.” We LOVED it. I had that feeling, THAT feeling, about it. And, because we truly are meant to be together, GTB did too.
There are a few drawbacks to the place though. For one, it’s on the fifth floor of a building that’s a hundred+ years old. So it has a rickety elevator and no air conditioning. That whole no air conditioning thing has us ruling out a July or August wedding. But maybe May or June would be nice.
For two, it’s small-ish. I think we could fit 200 people in there, but it’s going to feel really full. I think if we could narrow our list down some more to get us more in the ballpark of “shooting for” say, 175 people, we’d be golden.
At some point last night, while talking about how much we love the spot, I told GTB this. Bad idea. Thus commenced what was at first a debate where he kept saying, “You told me we were done. I don’t want to cut my list anymore.” And I kept saying, “I don’t want to fight about this right now. You might not have to cut your list. We’ll talk about it later.” And he kept saying, “No, if it’s going to be an issue, I want to talk about it now. We might as well.” And I kept saying, “NO! I don’t want to fight about it. We’ll talk later if it becomes an issue.”
Eventually, we got to the heart of the matter, i.e. why I want GTB to cut his list. I tried to explain why the idea of having twice as many of “his people” as mine there on our wedding day is offensive to me. He doesn’t understand what’s offensive about it.
I told him that I want there to be an equal number of my people there. He thinks that as we will soon be wed, there is no such thing as “my people” and “his people.” “They are all our people now,” he argued. To which I responded something about how even though we are getting married, I still have my own identity and my own people and my own family and my own friends. And those are the people I want surrounding me on my wedding day.
He said, “I’m not telling you you can’t have those people there.”
“No,” I said, “You’re saying you want me swimming around in a sea of Greg people.”
Yes, I actually said “swimming around in a sea of Greg people.” (And now you know his name.)
At this point, he got up, said, “I can’t talk to you about this anymore,” and left the room. I sat there in silence for a bit before deciding I needed to go to the gym.
After 45 minutes on the elliptical trainer and enough crunches to make my stomach burn in agony, I realized that GTB has lots of friends, more than I do. He’s a quantity guy. I’m a quality girl. Which isn’t to say his friends aren’t quality, he just keeps them a lot of people around all the time. I don’t. I have a few very close friends. So it makes sense that he’d have more people there than I would.
And, in the end, does it matter? As long as my very important peeps are there, does it really matter that there aren’t as many of them as there are his. What memory am I going to hold on to? One where I remember fondly looking over and seeing my Aunt Patty or running into my best college friend at the cake table? Or one where I’m surrounded by faces I don’t know and GTB has to keep introducing me?
I walked home from the gym, intent on apologizing for saying something so meanspirited and figuring out a way to make up. About two blocks from our house, I crossed paths with a perfect little Piggy puppy and remembered why I am really marrying GTB.
In a year or so, it won’t matter whose people are whose (or it won’t matter as much anyway), but the fact that we have a Piggy together will.
By the time I got home, GTB had cut his list to 115 or so. I know there are more on my list I can cut. We’ll get there. I’m not worried.