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B and I are in the season of our lives that our friends are getting married. His friends (a few years older) are wrapping up whereas my friends are just beginning. This year however is a year of overlap- the last two of B’s best friends with a serious significant others are tying the knot, and the beginning of my best friend’s with significant others are walking down the aisle.
This means that in 2011 we have eight weddings (only two of which are in Chicago). Now, I know, some of you have attended more; and to you I send some aspirin, a large check and a closet of party dresses. Attending weddings is serious (and expensive) business. Now, luckily for us we have a group of amazing friends so their weddings are both full of love and good times – bring on the mini cheeseburgers, mimosa bars and good cake. (Our wedding had mint juleps & a risotto bar so hey, I think we covered our bases, right?) I truly enjoy going to weddings, which always highlight the best of life – love, commitment, good food and better friends. What’s not to like?
But eight weddings? Let me put it this way: expect some repeat outfits. Also, B is getting a third tuxedo shirt. It just seems best.
We also have the problem of (yet again) close friends choosing the same wedding day. There are 53 Saturday’s in 2011 (for serious) and yet we have to pick between events on one of them. The weddings are in separate cities so we can either divide and conquer or skip one and attend the other- neither option is particularly appealing because, my goodness, I want to go to both. This kind of Sophie’s Choice makes my ulcer burn and my butt itch. I want to see both brides, I want to taste both cakes and I want to cry as they say their vows both times.
Also: it is a lot of wedding registries to keep track of. Sadly none of my friends have registered for that mysterious super cheap but really awesome and special and sentimental gift that I can slap a tag on and say “TO YOU, FROM US, WITH LOVE AND WARM WISHES. ALSO: ENJOY YOUR HONEYMOON AND DON’T FORGET YOUR SUNSCREEN” that they will rave about for years. “Daisy and B? Oh well they got us the most amazing mysterious inexpensive yet awesome and special and sentimental ______ ever. We will cherish it for FOREVER.” So if any of you find that gift? Just let me know. I have eight registries to get it on.
I began my path to world domination at a young age. In kindergarten and first grade I opted for the “class know it all” method, in which I tattled on anyone who so much as breathed in the wrong direction or didn’t walk in a neat and orderly line to lunch. While in British kindergarten I also ran a covert snack-exchange program during 10 O’Clock Tuck in which I would divvy up my unique American snacks (FRUIT ROLL UPS) into five equal pieces and trade each tiny piece for an entire British snack, typically a package of crisps or a whole Penguin bar. I was discovered, at some point, and told to knock it off. What I called capitalism, they called being greedy. Also: the road to obesity….lesson learned.
We moved back to America and I realized the “class know it all” method had earned me no friends (although it set up my path to life long rule following and conformity to the proper way of doing things) so instead I decided to start a club. Everyone loves clubs! I started an Earth Club, with which I figured I could save the Earth and earn admission into Harvard. Some neighborhood kids joined and we started out with pizzazz- by collecting donations (from my Dad) we bought a trash can that we set up at the neighborhood pool with signs asking people to recycle soda cans. Every week my Dad would drive me and the other club members over to the pool, where we would collect the cans, take them to the recycling plant and then use the money to buy more recycling bins for other neighborhood community areas. SPLENDID. From what I hear, they are still recycling at that pool, 20 years later. Mother Earth – she wins!
I, however, did not win. I was kicked out of the club a few months later for hurting Mother Earth after I made newspaper pirate hats for all the members (jaunty!) and surprised them with my hard work. Apparently newspaper pirate hats were not the latest fashion (but New Kids on the Block splatter paint shirts were, so, um…yeah) and I was quickly voted out of the club for wasting newspaper instead of recycling it.
It wasn’t a great start to my Harvard admission process – I sent off for the application and then let Wilmer Valderrama sign it at the airport so it never made it back to Cambridge – and I’m still a bad recycler. That said, I’m still on my path to world domination so watch out. You never know when you might need to trade your mid-morning snack in for a Fruit Roll Up..because I might be your only option. Bad American accent and all.