by Susan Wiggs
Weeks passed. We used our new dishes every night, and slowly I began to forget that I had never thanked Venita for her generous gift.
One afternoon, my mom forwarded an email from Venita titled “Awkward question.” Above the forwarded message, Mommy had written “SEND HER THANK YOU NOTE NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.”
My stomach flipped. I could feel my cheeks flush hot, then go cold and tingly as I read the message Venita had written:
* * *
From: Venita
To: Susan
Subject: Awkward question
Dear Susan,
I hope you’re doing well and enjoying the beautiful weather we’ve been having!
I’m writing because I have a somewhat awkward question to ask: Do you know if Elizabeth and Dave ever received the place settings I sent to them in Chicago? I tried contacting the company and they aren’t able to tell me. I haven’t heard from them and I’m worried the gifts never arrived!
We should get together for lunch again soon.
—Venita
* * *
I guiltily looked down at the beautiful white porcelain plate on the desk next to me, adorned with crumbs from the sandwich I’d made for lunch. I imagined that I could see the plate glaring accusingly at me. I felt like a thief—and in the wedding world, I was. See, you don’t get your wedding gifts for free. Instead, you pay for them with gratitude, smiles and acknowledgment. Since these commodities don’t cost you any money, you’re pretty much a bad person if you neglect to fork over the goods.
I spent the next hour crafting my reply, forcing Dave and my mother to edit and reedit multiple drafts.
* * *
From: Elizabeth
To: Venita
Subject: A thank you and an apology
Hi Venita!
I owe you a huge apology (and thank you at the same time!)—my mom mentioned that you hadn’t heard whether we received your gift from Oneida, and to my dismay I realized that Dave and I completely overlooked writing you a thank-you note. Moving to Chicago turned our lives upside down, and I’m very sorry to say that my etiquette skills are one of the items I’m still unpacking. The dinner sets are absolutely incredible and not a day goes by that we don’t use them and LOVE them. They’re actually the first real plates we’ve owned!
I hope you’ll accept my sincerest apologies for not letting you know that your gift was received and greatly, greatly appreciated.
Aside from forgetting our manners, Dave and I have been doing very well in Chicago. So far, we’re surviving the cold and what the city lacks in good weather it makes up for in a wonderful culture! Of course, we miss our families, but it’s been fun to make a new life for ourselves in this incredible place.
Again, I’m so sorry that I forgot to thank you and your husband. Your gift truly helped us make a home for ourselves out here in
Chicago—otherwise we’d still be eating off disposable plates and drinking our tea from mugs I bought at the Salvation Army!
Thank you once more.
Best,
Elizabeth
* * *
As soon as the email was sent, I scrambled to hand-write a thank-you note as well. That’s the other thing about thanking people for the gifts you receive: go hand-written or go home. I went rogue and sent an email in the Venita situation because it was more important to let her know as soon as possible that I’d gotten her gift, but I wasn’t about to gyp her out of the one thing she could expect in return for her generosity.
Dear Venita,
Thank you once more for the incredible place settings you sent. They really have made our condo feel more like a home here in Chicago—no more disposable dinnerware for us! You were so kind to send the settings to our new address. Apologies for the delayed note, and thanks again!
Best,
Elizabeth & Dave
I haven’t been late on a thank-you note since. In fact, Dave and I instituted a rule after the whole embarrassing situation with Venita: no using the new gift until we write a thank-you note for it. After the honeymoon, when we came home to a mountain of boxes, we wrote our notes as we opened each package. I suggest you do the same, or endure the epic, traumatic guilt you will experience when your generous friends have to ask about the gift they sent you when they never heard whether you received it.
SHOWERED IN LOVE
Ah, the bridal shower. Dreaded by some, eagerly anticipated by others, it can be one of the more polarizing experiences of the wedding planning process. I was one of those brides who couldn’t WAIT for my bridal shower—I was excited for the ribbon bouquet, the wrapping paper dress, the themed menus. The wedding gods must have known this, because I had not one, but two bridal showers thrown for me. The first was a surprise shower put on by Dave’s mom at her home in Vancouver, Canada. She lured me there with a story about celebrating Dave’s birthday as a family, but when I walked in the door, I was greeted by a roomful of Dave’s female relatives, two of my bridesmaids, my mom and an opera-singing chef named Pepe.
The theme of the shower was cooking and baking, and as Pepe sang and taught us how to prepare a beautiful Italian meal, I unwrapped gorgeous copper pans and glass nesting bowls.
I have a theory about why many women dread their own bridal showers: first, it’s a little bit awkward to sit in a roomful of people as they watch you open gifts. Sure, it was fun when you turned seven at Chuck E. Cheese’s, but we’re adults now and have become accustomed to receiving most gifts in the mail after they’ve been purchased online by our other adult friends. Second, and worse, your bridal shower is likely thrown by your mother or future mother-in-law—meaning that you won’t know every single person there. So, ultimately, you’re sitting in a circle of people, many of whom you don’t know, opening a pile of gifts they’ve given you and trying to act grateful when you’re not even entirely sure which one is Bitsy from your mom’s aerobics class and which one is Delilah from her book club.
Well, I developed a little trick for faking it through a party where you probably won’t know everyone’s name: first, you sloooowly open the attached card, keeping a discreet eye out for anyone whispering, “This one’s from me!” to her neighbor. Then, look at the name at the bottom of the card. Keeping your eyes on the card, say, “What a gorgeous note, Drusilla!” Now this is the crucial moment. Pretend you’re still reading the rest of the note she wrote, when in reality you’re waiting for Drusilla to respond to your compliment. BINGO! As soon as she says, “You’re welcome,” or “Oh, dear, I found that at the Dollar Store,” look up and smile at her, then rip into the wrapping paper.
One potential mishap: If Drusilla is too busy sucking down her mimosa, she might not respond to your comment about her card. In these rare cases, look around dazedly at the circle of women and say, “Now where’s Drusilla? I don’t see her…” and when she waves or someone points her out to you, say, “Ah! I thought you were on the other side of the room!”
Of course, knowing this method, you could save yourself a lot of anxiety by asking the host of your shower to discreetly nod in the direction of each gift-giver as you read her name from the card. Or you could ask your hostess to provide nametags or play some sort of name game with your guests, but you should make sure you’ve got a backup plan in the event that your menopausal hostess’s house is colder than a meat locker and all the guests put on cardigans that cover their “Hi, My name is…” badges.
And if all else fails, force yourself to tear up. They’ll forgive you for anything if you play the part of the emotional bride well.
SUSAN
Don’t get me started on bridal shower etiquette. I made the mistake of consulting some wedding books, reading the rules and regs of giving and receiving until my eyes glazed over. And then I did it my way. Well, my and Sheila’s way, to be honest. Sheila is the go-to BFF we all need in our lives, the one with the big smile, the big laugh and the can-do attitude. We put our heads together and planned the silliest bridal shower our fevered minds could conjure up.
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We kept it simple, ensuring that no one’s eyes would glaze over. The invited guests—women I’ve known and loved for years—received an email invitation, with the time (a flawlessly sunny Pacific Northwest summer afternoon), the place (my patio), links to the gift registry and a promise to award a prize to the most creatively wrapped parcel. And then we called a caterer. We’re nutty, but not stupid. Nobody wants to run around cutting cucumbers into little flower shapes when we could be sitting on the patio, sipping a kir royale. Or better yet—the signature cocktail Sheila named especially for the event: The Pink Wiggs. Get a jar of hibiscus flowers in syrup (yes, these do exist), place a flower in a champagne flute and cover it with your favorite bubbly. Done!
The gang showed up in force, we played games, we ate and drank, we oohed and aahed over presents. At the very end, Canadian Dave showed up and I paraded him around like a Great Dane at the Westminster Dog Show, to wild applause. By this point, he was resigned to the idea of being my son-in-law, and all that entails.
As for me, what on earth did I want to give my daughter as a wedding gift? A place setting that looks like the other eleven place settings she signed up for? Couch pillows or a fancy duvet cover? A kitchen appliance? Sorry, no.
I’m a big believer in letting the universe hand you what you need. When it comes to picking out the perfect gift to give your daughter on the occasion of her wedding, it behooves you to pay attention to the world around you. As the bride’s parents, you want to give them a grand gift. Something memorable and personal. Something they’ll treasure all their lives. You want to give them something that celebrates who they are and all your hopes and dreams for them…but at the same time, doesn’t burden them with an object that’s going to be a pain as they cart it with them, albatross-like, through life. So what, after childhood, graduations, all those holidays and birthdays, is left to give her?
That’s where the universe comes in. Pay attention, and all will be revealed, right?
In my family, there is an epic platter that is given to each woman on the occasion of her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. We have a theory that this is because it takes twenty-five years to find someone willing to take on the silver filigree and crystal monstrosity. It’s exactly the sort of thing you don’t want around. Five minutes in the open air, and the thing is tarnished. It’s also fragile, and so it spends its life swaddled in bubble wrap, taking up space.
Clearly, there was one thing I knew I’d never give—a fragile anniversary platter of any sort. Seriously, no one needs such a thing, particularly a pair of newlyweds who will, according to statistics, move an average of four times before they buy their first home.
Unfortunately, as you’ve probably already guessed, the universe had another plan. Jay and I decided that, in honor of her wedding, our adored and only daughter was going to receive (wait for it) a platter.
I know, right? But I don’t make the rules. I met artist Sally Mara Sturman in another context entirely, but when I saw her work, I was a goner and in-stantly commissioned a ceramic platter from her. Sally’s art is whimsical, personal, colorful and a perfect way to capture the joy of the occasion.
The universe gave me Sally, and I had to give Sally some idea of what to depict on the platter. Happily, she had visited our home and Seattle, so she was already familiar with the ferryboats, the mountains and Puget Sound, the gulls and eagles. In her inimitable, charming style, she created a panorama of these iconic images, with a small vignette of a couple sailing off into the sunset, toward a shining happily-ever-after. Every detail in the picture had meaning to the couple, from the name on the stern of the boat to the tiny depiction of Barkis the dog, paw raised in salute from the shore. On the back, she recorded the date and a personal message. Years from now, I hope they’ll use it to serve canapés or birthday cake or even a pizza pie to their friends and family.
Is it fragile? Sure it is, just like a marriage. This simply means is they’re going to have to work extra hard in order to make sure it doesn’t break.
* * *
CHEAT SHEET
DID YOUR NEW CHINA PATTERN OBSESSION
DISTRACT YOU FROM THIS CHAPTER?
HERE’S YOUR CHEAT SHEET:
Go ahead—register. Otherwise, you’ll end up with a matching set of crocheted toilet doilies and seventeen toasters.
Go high-end. If you want that absurdly expensive grapefruit knife, put it on your list. And if nobody ends up getting it for you, lots of stores will give you the option of purchasing it at a discount.
Write your thank-you notes NOW. As soon as you get a gift.
* * *
10
JUGGLING ACT
Taking the guesswork out of guests
ELIZABETH
Brides, you know how excited and sparkly you feel right now? You’re probably over-the-moon at the prospect of anything wedding-related because, if you’re anything like me, you played the “when we’re engaged” game with yourself for at least a couple of months (okay, years) before your honey proposed to you. So here’s my advice: use that energy immediately. Do some of the nitpicky stuff now, while it still seems fun to you.
For example, make the guest list before you’re all wedding-ed out and you want to stab yourself in the eye with a dull butter knife whenever you think about it. Dave and I spent the first morning after we were engaged brainstorming all the people we wanted to have at our wedding. Later that week, we created an Excel file titled “Everyone Who’s Anyone–Wiggs-n-Dave’s Totally Awesome Guest List.” (Note: I highly recommend going overboard in the “Wedding!!!!!!” file you’ve probably just started on your computer. All our documents and spreadsheets had bodacious names, and as I grew more and more weary of dealing with the brass tacks of the wedding, those titles gave me a reason to smile and remember how excited I was about the whole process.)
If you’re such a saint that the idea of jay walking makes your unsullied-by-worldly-things skin crawl, skip this next part. We’re about to get a little dicey.
I know what you’re thinking: “But I don’t have time to make our guest list yet! I might be engaged, but I still have a fifty-hour-a-week job, and a social life, and four episodes of Gossip Girl on my TiVo!”
Well, brides, I’ll share a little secret with ya. And I feel comfortable doing this, because any woman who has ever planned her wedding while holding down a full-time job will back me up. Wedding planning can look just like work. You know that spreadsheet your manager asked you to create to illustrate your firm’s operations budget allocation for the past six months? Be honest: you’ve been putting it off because it’s boring, even though you know it will only take you ten minutes once you get started. Well, do the flippin’ budget allocation. Now. And when it’s done, don’t say a word to anyone in your office. Open a second Excel file and start your guest list. When your manager stops by and asks how the budget spreadsheet is coming along, squint at your Aunt Matilda’s mailing address and say, “You know, I hit a couple of bumps with it, but I’ll get it to you by the end of today.”
Booya. Your guest list is coming together, your boss thinks you’re working your tail off and you’re actually already done with your boring project.
Is it ethical? No. Does every working bride do it? You bet.
Let’s be honest with each other here: chances are, you’re not working ’round the clock while you’re in the office. You’re playing Sudoku, emailing your girlfriends about the cute new shoes you just bought, refreshing the Nordstrom home page to see if that pair of True Religion jeans finally went on sale.
So (and let’s turn off our moral compasses here) you’re not really being unethical. You’re just replacing your old forms of procrastination with a new one: wedding planning. And, bonus, your wedding is probably all you can think about right now so you’ll be giving yourself an outlet for your obsession that will allow you to focus more fully on your job when you need to. Yeah…right. Planning your wedding at work will actually make you a better employee. Yep. Just keep t
elling yourself that.
I did.
And the gal who sat next to me in the office—the one who had just gotten married a couple of months ago—kept giving me a knowing wink whenever I started to look abnormally captivated by the data compilation I’d just been assigned.
Just make sure you don’t miss any deadlines.
THE GUEST LIST—OR, THE ONLY TIME
YOU’LL EVER HAVE TO RANK YOUR FRIENDS
IN ORDER OF THEIR IMPORTANCE TO YOU
The wedding isn’t all about you. I mean, yeah, you’re the one in the big white dress, and sure, everyone keeps reminding you that it’s “your day.” But, look, it’s also a very important and moving day for your parents. After all, no matter what sort of relationship you have with your family now, you were once a little baby girl they never dreamed would be a wife. For your mom or dad, it’s like seeing that younger cousin who lives in Saskatchewan for the first time in ten years (“holy smokes, she’s tall…and old”), except a gazillion times more intense. Keep that in mind when you’re building your guest list. They might need some of their peeps around for support. If your venue has a strict limit on the number of people you can have, give your folks a concrete number of guests they’re allowed to invite. Don’t be stingy with them, either—especially if they’re paying for the wedding.
You want Mom and Dad to be comfortable and happy and not feel like they’re stuck at a college party. Our final guest list of 185 people (the rest of our 232 invited guests couldn’t make it) included 55 of my parents’ friends. So, yeah, maybe the Wiggses went a little overboard. I can say that with complete confidence now, after seeing the shoe-sized hole in the tulle underskirt of my dress, courtesy of my mom’s inebriated, close-talking friend. But it was better than having my parents feeling like they just paid through the nose to hang out with a bunch of krumping twenty-five-year-olds.