Letting go of 'perfect' (kind of)

Enlarge This Image

I received my 110th wedding-related e-mail today.

I should be more specific: I received my 110th wedding planning-related e-mail from a vendor, company, publication or web service today. That 110 does not include the messages of congratulations from friends, family members and loved ones. We're strictly talking good old fashioned American e-commerce. I've been engaged for 80 days and in that time, on average, I have received one e-mail every 17 hours and 27 minutes from a stranger who wants to celebrate my impending nuptials by taking my money in exchange for some good or service.

A handful of these e-mail exchanges have been with real people: The Etsy seller whose save-the-date prints I loved and my fiancé vetoed. The web developer acquaintance we might hire to design a custom WordPress theme for our website. But for the most part, I've gotten used to waking up every morning to a new batch of e-mails from companies that want me to buy their dresses, customize their invitations, subscribe to their magazines, order their favors and stay in their honeymoon suites.

Yesterday morning I logged in to Gmail to find this message from my online frenemy, The Knot:

My first reaction (besides feeling a little weird about the fact that a website is keeping closer track of my wedding date than I am) was really, guys? Really? Like I really need a reminder that I don't have unlimited time to get this thing off the ground? No pressure.

It didn't hit me until a few hours later that 13 months is a long time. A really long time. More than enough time to plan the perfect wedding.

And there it is. That phrase -- "the perfect wedding." The word "perfect" has appeared in about 20 percent of those e-mails from The Knot and Rexcraft and David's Bridal and Dessy and WeddingGuideAlaska.com. (Yes, I counted. Well, Gmail counted for me.) Add in "ideal," "dream" and "beautiful" and you're looking at more than half.

Turns out I'm not becoming a neurotic psychobride -- I'm just letting my e-mail mess with my head. All these companies that want to sell me things are trying to feed my insecurities with visions of The Perfect Wedding -- perfect flowers, perfect dress, perfect RSVP cards, perfect chair covers*, all conveniently available from these same e-tailers. Perfect!

As I looked over the e-mails labeled "Wedding Vendors" that have multiplied in my inbox, I took a step back from all the packaged perfection and started thinking about some of the weddings I've been to. Which was when it occurred to me that they've all been perfect.

My cousin Ian's garage wedding, when my dad and Uncle Steven spent the morning perched on top of a pickup truck in the rain stapling Visqueen to the roof to create a tent for the buffet tables and wet dogs ran underfoot throughout the reception and a Stepovich cousin who was a foot taller than everyone else made a spectacular one-handed bouquet catch? Perfect.

My best friend Alicia's wedding, when the groom's great uncle had a cardiac episode in the middle of the homily and the Portland Fire and Rescue Bureau had to be called to St. Patrick's, and then later the maid of honor (ahem) made an inappropriate remark -- in front of the priest -- about how "it's not called 'getting knocked up' when you're married"? Perfect.

My soon-to-be cousin-in-law Rachel's wedding in Florida in unseasonably cold January weather, when the bridesmaids visibly shivered and actually started to turn blue? Perfect.

My friend Julia's wedding at Alpenglow, which ended up costing me nearly a thousand bucks when the road to Arctic Valley claimed one of my tires and I had to replace the whole set? Perfect.

I ticked through the list of weddings I've been to over the years and realized that, while the food has been lousy at some of them, and there's been the occasional awkward social moment or embarrassing situation (or medical emergency), they all seem perfect in retrospect because they've all had the most important element in place: Two people who love each other, surrounded by people who love them.