I’ve been putting off writing about this. Why? You ask. Because when you write about something, you can’t avoid reliving it and wedding expos are now added to my list of “Things I Promise Myself I Will Never Do Again”. This is after I went to just two wedding expos, which was two too many. The first one was when Lindsay wasn’t even engaged yet. Her friend had gotten engaged and she had promised to meet her there. I volunteered to go because I thought it would be fun and for some reason, I anticipated there would be food there. (One hint of advice. If you still decide to go to a wedding expo after you read this and you expect to eat there, your chances are slim to none.)
There is a predictable structure to wedding expos. First thing you do is get on line behind all the other soon-to-be brides to sign in so they can get all your information to give it away to all the vendors and you then can be inundated with mail, phone calls and email from them. After that, they give the bride a large bag, which the bride hands directly over to her mother (if she’s there) to schlep all the magazines and brochures and cds in while she (the bride) has her arms free to talk to all the vendors. As you proceed past all the tables one after another the bag gets heavier and heavier with all the chazerai of wedding planning. The bag eventually gets dumped in your dining room or any other place where you dump your stuff when you come into your house and no one ever bothers with it again, except to add it to the trash pick-up.
One thing I’ve decided I never want to be is a vendor at a wedding expo because all you do is say the same thing over and over again. I know this because while I was resting between tables and Lindsay was discussing all the different options, I heard the vendor from the next table saying the same thing with the same inflection, intonation and hand motions to each bride. I tend to wander off at wedding expos, a habit that my daughter finds very irritating, in case she wants me to hear what a particular vendor has to say even though I’ve probably heard it being told to another bride three times before while Lindsay was at the previous table, or she might need me to add things to the bag that I’m carrying for her, which is starting to give me bursitis of the shoulder.
The first wedding expo I went to, we stayed the whole time. As a matter of fact, Lindsay’s friend, whom we were meeting, left right away, probably because she had no one to carry her bag of wedding planning stuff. We remained to hear all the DJs and bands perform. Since there is no food and no liquor, you have to hear this while you’re possibly very hungry and not particularly “happy” or buzzed from a libation. If the performances sound good then, you should book them. The problem was that the DJs and bands we saw seemed like they didn’t want to be there as much as I.
The second wedding expo I went to was to kill some time after picking up my mother to take her to see the wedding dress. We had about two hours to spend at the expo and then make it to a 7:15 appointment. The incentive for this expo was that they advertised that they would serve food. So, Lindsay, my mom and I went. I thought it might be fun for my mom, too; however, it was just more of the same. And there was no food until later on- after we planned to leave for our appointment. I found myself wandering this time to vendors who were nice enough to set up bowls with candies in them. Of course that meant I had to pretend to be interested in what they were selling and listen to their spiel. One DJ, who looked more bored than I asked me if I was the bride. At first I was surprised to be asked that question, then I thought “why not”, so I told him "yes". Then I made up this elaborate romantic story about meeting my high school sweetheart on the Internet and how we both never settled down and now we were getting married for the first time. I thought this would dispel both our boredoms. I was quickly brought back to reality when I heard Lindsay yelling for me two tables down, “Mom, mom, why do you keep disappearing? I need you to hear this.” I just excused myself while the DJ looked at me, puzzled. Before we even got into the main room, there were about 12 tables stationed at the foyer outside the door and it was so crowded that it was a challenge to hold the now two wedding-planning paraphernalia bags I was carrying and navigate my 85-year old mother through the horde of people.
And this is what you’ll see when you do get into the main room, one after another- photographer/videographer; DJ/Band; wedding favors; florists, make-up artists, travel agents, wedding officiants; wedding cake bakers and even erotica (I call it Shtupperware). At the erotica table I asked the lady to explain every single contraption. She asked if I would like to make a party for a free gift. I told her I couldn’t because it was on my list of “Things I Promise Myself I Will Never Do Again”. I was cranky and starving. When we got the wedding cake table, they had samples of the different kinds of flavors of cakes in the size of a thimble. I am not exaggerating, at all. I begged for a sample of each one. I ate every one in three separate teeny bites to savor the taste of food. I looked at Lindsay and said, “Please, let’s leave.” She was done with it too. And my poor mother was just bewildered by everything. As we walked out the door, I thought of my list I began 23 years ago:
Things I Promise Myself I Will Never Do Again
1. Have another baby.
2. Host another slumber party for seven year olds.
3. Drive to Florida.
4. Host a Tupperware or Shtupperware Party at my house, even if tempted by the free gift.
5. Host another slumber party for 12 year olds.
6. Drink two blue martinis (unless I don’t obey numbers 2 and 5).
and I added
7. Attend a wedding expo.
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