Monday is going to be rainy and four degrees and that romantic son of a bitch Andrew still maintains the wedding dinner will take place on the beach.
With...tents?
No tents.
Umbrellas and portable heaters, then?
No. It'll be fine, Bridge.
Oh, honey. It won't be fine and yet he refuses to make contingency plans, all the while I work around him organizing a multitude of contingency plans for every little thing, including backup tents stored in the garage where he can't see them, our portable space heaters and plans to still have dinner outside, just on the patio if it comes to that.
No one wants to eat if they're cold. No one wants to try and eat a wedding feast in the rain.
Sure they do, Andrew says dreamily.
You're the worst bride I've ever dealt with, I remind him. Let's plan for the best and prepare for the worst. Also you need to go and pick up the tents you don't need. I've reserved them already.
You've managed to weaponize logistics, Bridget. He gives me a kiss on the cheek.
Someone had to, I tell him, and cough in his face.
With...tents?
No tents.
Umbrellas and portable heaters, then?
No. It'll be fine, Bridge.
Oh, honey. It won't be fine and yet he refuses to make contingency plans, all the while I work around him organizing a multitude of contingency plans for every little thing, including backup tents stored in the garage where he can't see them, our portable space heaters and plans to still have dinner outside, just on the patio if it comes to that.
No one wants to eat if they're cold. No one wants to try and eat a wedding feast in the rain.
Sure they do, Andrew says dreamily.
You're the worst bride I've ever dealt with, I remind him. Let's plan for the best and prepare for the worst. Also you need to go and pick up the tents you don't need. I've reserved them already.
You've managed to weaponize logistics, Bridget. He gives me a kiss on the cheek.
Someone had to, I tell him, and cough in his face.