friends...

I've come to a conclusion about friends in the context of wedding planning and ultimately the dreaded guest list. Sometimes it takes life-changing events to really help identify who true friends are. I might be in an interesting circumstance here where my wedding is following my father's passing, and I find myself constantly assessing the behavior and relationships of those I consider friends. It's pretty much a daily occurrence where I sit down and think 'should I invite them?' I mean, certain people have made it abundantly clear where we stand on their importance-ometer....

It's probably the same handful of questions that every bride faces up until the day of her wedding, and possibly after. I don't want to be haunted by the fact that I invited this friend over this cousin, or this aunt and not that coworker. In the end, I know it's my wedding and I have every right to make the decisions I do because I want it that way, but just seeing those words - I want it that way - conjures a vision of a frilly, pink-smocked girl standing in a grocery store stomping her white patent-leather Mary Janes on the speckled linoleum because she can't have a piece of candy.

I mean, how far can we brides really take 'it's my day and I'll do what I want.' My mother and I have come to an impass on the topic of the receiving line. After enduring the multiple hours in line after my father's memorial, I simply can't stomach the idea of volunteering myself for something so awful. And I said so in no uncertain terms, but because it's important to show the guests their presence is appreciated, I've been told we have to do something. So we're going to have to be creative...

But back to guests...and friends. I don't want to make people feel badly for not successfully landing on 'the list' but honestly some people have to understand the reason why. If I haven't physically seen you in over a year and we've chatted via text maybe three times in the last six months and I'm always the one initiating the communication, what am I honestly supposed to think.

So, in the end.... I hate the be the brat in the white patent leather sling backs with a bouquet of roses in my hand, but it's my wedding dammit...and I'll do what I want.