Luckily, the man I’m marrying is very lovely and calm. Even better, his best man lives upstairs from us and has a car and lets us borrow it. My friend Erin told me to make a list of all my worries and then attack them one at a time. Dress too tight? Find a tailor. So I did—several glasses of wine later—find a very nice, Yelp-recommended one in Foggy Bottom who assured me he could take the dress out an inch without making it too loose. (I don’t feel like flashing people on my wedding day.) For hair, I decided to splurge and got a last-minute appointment at Erwin Gomez in Georgetown, where my brilliant stylist, Rudy, turned out to be available the morning of October 3, even at the ungodly hour of 8 AM. Flowers were more of a toughie. The few quotes I’d had would put us overwhelmingly over budget. (If I have to choose between flower money and alcohol money, I choose alcohol money.) However, I inherited from my maternal grandmother a dab hand at flower arranging. So we figured we’d go out, buy some vases and a bunch of flowers on Friday, and put them all together, which will doubtless make for an enlightening blog post next week.
Ditto for the cake. If I have to make my own wedding cake, I will. I really hope I don’t have to, though. I actually have given John all cake responsibility. If we have one, we have one. If we don’t, who cares? We’re not really smush-cake-in-each-other’s-faces kind of people. I think it’s gross, not funny, particularly when I’ve paid someone decent money to make my face look immaculate. And cake is far too good to waste. Speaking of cake, I gave it up. Along with bread, sugar, pasta, potatoes, and fun—I’m now on a carb-free diet, which is horrible but incredibly effective. The only carb I haven’t given up is wine, for obvious reasons. Things might start to get ugly.
I also ordered new shoes—plain white silk ballerina pumps, which I figured would go with a short dress and pearls. So I feel much better. Although I can totally empathize now with John’s sulking because his tuxedo didn’t fit properly, and I feel very bad for making fun of him in a previous post. These things are very important, even when I pretend they aren’t.
You can follow Sophie's story from the beginning here.
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