Nobody came out and actually asked me "who are you, and why does your opinion matter?" over the 16-plus months of engaged bliss (surgeon general’s warning: may not contain actual bliss), but I got that impression from more than one person involved with the planning and execution of the Anchorage World’s Fair -- that is, our wedding. While it’s not entirely unusual in this day and age for a groom to be involved -- or even fully in charge -- of planning a wedding, it probably seemed strange given how ambitious and opinionated the bride was reported to be.

My involvement was natural enough to the two of us -- I handle stress better in the moment and was better able to dispassionately consider not only the “aww” factor of a line item, but its cost and how it would fit in with the larger event.  Not that Maia couldn’t have done any of these things, but I’m hoping that my input allowed her creativity to run wild, amok even, knowing that I’d reel her back if she got too far afield. That, or I’m more of a control freak than any of us realized. Probably a little from column A, a little from column B.

After some initial work breaking Maia’s heart by doing such things as nixing overpriced Save the Date cards and talking her out of registering for china patterns she’d hate in five years, my role became something of a Chief Operating Officer to her Chairwoman of the Board.  Perhaps I’m glossing myself a little there: in actuality, we envisioned me as something of an executive assistant -- screening phone calls, handling details she wished to avoid and generally keeping her free to do things like write embarrassing columns about me and painstakingly build invitations by hand.

For some vendors, this was easy enough. The two separate caterers we used for food and beverages had no issues whatsoever. Providing victuals for a wedding feast turns out to be much the same as working any other event (except for the markup many attach to the magical phrase “wedding reception,” although we were fortunate enough to avoid that where refreshments were concerned), so we had no problems there. Similarly, the cake maker was easy for me, as she is a family friend who not only made the (spectacular) cake for my father’s recent wedding, but who also made birthday cakes for my sister and I as we were growing up.

However (and you had to see that coming), some had a harder time dealing with the Involved, Evolved Groom-to-be. For example, no many how many times Maia told our tuxedo rental outfit, and I (more or less) quote, “Stop calling me. You have the groom’s cell number. Use it. If I had known he was even going to give you my contact information, I’m not sure I would have said yes,” they continued to call her to do things like inform her that many of those scheduled to rent tuxes (such as both of our fathers) had yet to be fitted. (I like to think that last bit of her harangue was just the stress talking.) In any event, this reached its ridiculous conclusion when I was picking up my tux at the same time as my father-in-law, who was questioning whether the fathers should be receiving the same pair of black-and-white spectators as the groom’s party. Despite my being present and saying “hey, I’m the groom, I made the reservations, and no, the old guys get plain black patent leathers,” they insisted they had to call the bride for any changes to the order.

Other vendors, such as the managers of our venue, responded to the unusual level of my involvement with well-intentioned oversharing.  As much as I appreciated being in the loop, I really did not need to know how much nicer Maia’s dressing room, hospitality suite and (I think) holistic botanical garden would be than my own Spartan, though perfectly functional, changing rooms.