Thursday, April 19, 2012

White Girl Problems: A Fairy Tale

As a self-proclaimed princess, my attitude is more "I'd rather not be bothered lifting a finger and exerting any of my royal energy on stuff that you commoners do yourselves" than do-it-myself. I've embraced a very strengths-based lifestyle that involves a lot of outsourcing of tasks that, frankly, I lack the knowledge, skills, ability and/or raw talent to perform myself. And yes, I even outsource some tasks I most certainly could perform on my own but would prefer not to. This includes but is not limited to the domestic arts such as cleaning and food preparation. I like to think that my attitude is good not only for my wellbeing, but also good for the economy and the general health of those who are forced to interact with me.

When you're a princess in a kingdom of one, you get to call all the shots. Beer and popcorn for dinner? Sure! Own 45 pairs of underwear to reduce the amount of time spent doing laundry? You betcha. (Side note: I am clearly the princess of some Fargo-based kingdom based on my lexicon.) Now that my kingdom has expanded to include a prince, life has changed a little. I try not to leave my bras hanging on various doorknobs, for example, and instead of leaving a thick layer of multihued hair on the bathroom counter, I wipe up after myself. I unplug my curling iron instead of leaving it on all day in case of a hair emergency. I don't eat Klondike bars for dinner anymore. I no longer purchase fat-free cottage cheese. Life is full of compromises.

Since becoming engaged three months ago, the prince and I started wedding planning and I quickly realized that the actual planning fell into the category of things I would prefer to outsource, and I took steps to hire an expert ASAP. I accidentally forgot to include the prince in this decision making process and had to quickly put on the brakes when I realized that (drumroll, please), we had a difference of opinion. The prince – in addition to his many fine qualities – is extremely cautious with money. Now, I'm not setting fire to dollar bills or anything, but he is so frugal that I look like a spendthrift by comparison.

After much cajoling and some threats, the prince grudgingly agreed to talk to a wedding planner, and I continued interviewing professionals until I found one whom I clicked with. It helped that she read my entire blog and told me she "had a vision" for my special day. And, okay, it also helped that she marketed the package she eventually sold me with the pithy tag line, "Just Show Up." The prince met her, we negotiated a little, and then he wrote a big fat check. (Sorry. My money is tied up in real estate. Because I am both princess and slumlord, but that's a whole other blog.)

That, my friends, is the last time I laid eyes on the wedding planner – a woman whom I grew very fond of in a very short period of time. She did have a vision for our special day and she thoughtfully suggested three potential locations for the big event. A princess needs a castle, folks. We set up site visits, the prince and I rearranged our schedules, and off we went. Alone. Because the professional had a fever.

Fast forward two weeks. We fell in love with the very first site we saw. We want to sign a contract. But the planner is out of commission. She's in the hospital. With pneumonia. For the record, I think this is a terrible turn of events and I'm concerned for her health. My family and my groom, however, think I've been swindled. They were all skeptical of the wedding planning business from the get-go, and my inability to perform simple tasks like set a date and identify a location for the wedding are worrisome to these already naturally anxious people.

I've dreamed about a wedding for as long as I can remember – but as a little girl, I never imagined disappearing wedding planners, day-long debates about the invitee list that would result in midday drinking to dull the pain, or the horrors of buying a plus-sized wedding gown. In my little girl daydreams, it was all tiaras, cake, and glass slippers, which leads me to wonder . . . did Cinderella have to plan her own damn wedding?

© 2012 Princess D