Last night I made invitations to our party, the one we’re throwing before we go to the courthouse.
Wait, let me rephrase that. Last night I:
1. Designed a simple pretty invite. Read it very carefully. Customized the printing size on my computer’s Page Setup to accomodate 3.25×5 inch cards.
2. Watched my printer repeatedly spit out the test card without printing anything on it. Swore.
3. Tried every manner of readjustment to get the printer to understand how to print the text box on a 3.25×5 inch card. Managed only to get corners of text printed on corners of test card. Swore violently.
4. Called Biscuit after 2.5 hours. Swore whimperingly.
5. Listened as Biscuit tried it on his identical printer and succeeded after about eight minutes. Swore pitifully.
6. Followed Biscuit’s incredibly simple instructions, which involved merely telling the printer it was 4×6 inches and realigning the text box to come out at the top right hand corner of the window. Swore at myself, using all of the above adverbs.
7. Set about happily printing 25 invites before realizing that the party is on the sixteenth of October, not the eighteenth as I’d just printed on 25 invites. SWORE AND LAUGHED AND THEN SWORE SOME MORE.
The result? I managed to print the remaining 20 cards with the correct date* and will have to head back to Kate’s Paperie for more. After three hours of fidgeting with pixels, considering printer-homocide, and a lot of R-rated monologues, I realized something …
It doesn’t matter how casually and light-heartedly we set about getting married. It’s still a wedding. And while I’m doing everything I can to avoid Bridezilla-esque behavior (swearing at the computer doesn’t count – that’s par for the course between me and technology), I learned last night that weddings are weddings are weddings. Yes, they’re about love and trust and commitment.
They’re also about swearing, the wrong flowers, swearing, organizing throngs of people, swearing, endless pages of notes, and swearing. And printers. And swearing.
Bring it on, Wedding Gods. We can totally handle this shit.
*And yes, I did consider simply scratching out the “eighteenth” and writing in “sixteenth” with an asterix at the bottom saying “FUCK THIS NOISE I’M DONE”.