A couple of months ago, my mother and father came out to visit me so that Mom could do the alterations on my wedding dress. She did a fabulous job, by the way, and Yes Dear and I could never have pulled off the wedding without her.
However, she brought a monster with her, and she left it in my apartment. It now resides on top of my refrigerator, and something will have to be done about it very soon. I regard it with dread every time I venture into my kitchen. It looks perfectly harmless, a plain red gift bag with unassumingly boxed contents sitting benignly atop my largest appliance.
But this bag, you see, contains the single most terrible piece of fallout from my very recent wedding. The apparently harmless contents of the bag are in fact 100 blank thank-you notes (and envelopes and address labels) that I’m going to have to fill with carefully hand-written text.
*cue ominous music*
Oh, how I cringe at the thought. Save me from having to pen line after line of bland, generic sentiments of gratitude! I have a notebook in which I have kept track of all things weddingish, and the most recent entry is the list of wedding gifts and who they are from. It goes on for pages. Don’t get me wrong, we’re extremely blessed to have such generous friends and family, but yikes, I will be writing thank-you notes until our first wedding anniversary, I think. And then there’s the matter of Yes Dear’s family. They are quite traditional, and will be watching me to see if I do everything properly. One of the dangers of marrying into an entirely different ethnic group is the plethora of ways you could go wrong dealing with the new relations and have no idea you’ve misstepped.
One of the last things Yes Dear and I talked about before flying back to our respective residences was thank-you notes. He, bless him, offered to help write them, but it seems silly to pay the postage to send some of them to him and then pay the postage again to send them to their recipients. So I guess I’ll be doing the writing, but you can bet I’ll have him on the phone to make sure I’ve said everything right and that I have the addresses correct.
First, though, I’ll have to screw up the courage to brave the monster on the fridge and muster my resolve to plunge in and get started. I’m not even going to think about finishing yet – that’s way too big a mountain to consider. First, I have to start, and that’s on the agenda for this evening. I hope.