Little White Lies

There exists this tiny little nugget of information; a money saving tip that has run its course through the Budget Bride Rumor Mill and come out such: avoid saying the word "wedding" to your baker and save yourself a substantial wedding cake up-charge. Damn those bakers. How dare they? Taking advantage of us in all our desperate-to-fulfill-a-childhood-dream vulnerability. So what's a girl to do? Call it a "family event" and stick it to the man. Get the same cake for a fraction of the cost. Brilliant.

And now, a glimpse of brilliance (tbd) in action:
Setting: Helena's most highly recomended wedding cake bakery. Plot: A woman on a righteous mission. Enter: Me.

"Hi! We're having a family reunion this summer and we're looking for a cake." (Hand over magazine picture of dream cake clipped from a wedding magazine.) Mistake Number 1.

Response from baker: "Ok.... How many people do you need to serve?" To which my trusty sidekick (Mom) says "200? ... 250?" Really, Mom? Have you ever in your life heard of a family reunion that size? Large and obvious, Mistake Number 2.

And that was the moment. The moment in which my confidence faltered. My determination wavered. I felt her eyes on me. She knew. And just to make it clear that she knew, she slid the "Wedding Cake Price List" across the counter for my shame-filled consideration. No price cuts for me.

I had lied. One little white lie, and I couldn't handle it. But I was in too far now; owning the lie and changing my tune would surely be worse. So, squirming, I continued the pretense as long as I could until I found a way to excuse myself and run away.

The minute we were out the door I informed my Mom that we could not use them, despite their well deserved reputation, and that was that.

We will just have to look elsewhere. Perhaps another town even. The lie will haunt me.

From here on out, I'll bite the bullet and risk the extra charge. Besides, you're only a Budding Bride once. Who wants to pretend not to be, and miss her moment in the spotlight? Not this girl.

Mission: Incriminating.

The moral of the story? Be careful which corners you decide to cut. You may get the cake, but you have to eat it, too.

Revelation

(this blog is long overdue)

My plans have been all over the place. I have very distinct visions for my wedding. Vision(s) being the definitive word.

I want vintage.

I want flowy and ethereal.

I want neutrals.

I want grapes ... ?

I know, I'm obviously confused.

The problem is, that's just me. Confused. Scattered. Passionate - about a dozen seperate and opposite things. (A character trait that made choosing my wedding dress a distinct problem, but that's for another post.)

I mention vintage to my Mom and we both start dreaming of 40's style tea length bridesmaid dresses and a room full of hydrangeas.

I mention flowy to my bridesmaids and they start trying on strappy little summer dresses that, for a few days, I think I like.

I mention grapes to my Dad (who's cooking genius has landed him the job of reception menu overseer) and he starts spouting about Italian dishes and little bottles of chianti.

All wonderful things, sure. But cohesive, they are not.

And then finally ... revelation: Mediterranean.

A Mediterranean inspired wedding. More specifically, Greek inspired. Clearer yet, Athenian.

Each thought was just a shade off. Each element just needed a little refinement. Vintage? How about styles pulled from one of the oldest cultures? Flowy? I think so! Grapes - absolutely. But instead of grapes with red and yellow ceramic platters and peppy Italian music, we will have grapes flowing over a marble vase.

We will have to rebuild the dinner menu from scratch, but it's a small price to pay for wedding day clarity. For salvation from insanity due to wedding planning induced multiple personality disorder.

You may ask "Is she Greek?" And my answer to you is simply "No." But lay off me, would ya? I have dark hair!

In all seriousness, it's just a love of the culture. A love of their fashion. A connection with their way of life that started when I planted myself on a Greek island for three months. It's a sophisticated sort of casual. I can't think of anything better.