everyone “no gifts” at the engagement party I’m hosting next weekend, but how could I not send my little boy and his bride-to-be a “small something” to get rid of all those dust bunnies? You’re not the “Modern Bride” for nothing, El. Hee-hee—just kidding! See you this weekend, Love, Mom and Dad Benjamin
I’d torn up the card in a hundred tiny pieces and threw the stupid mini-broom and dustpan in the garbage can. An hour later, I pulled them out (it took me an hour to pick off the coffee grounds and stewed tomatoes), just in case Mrs. Benjamin needed to sweep something up during a visit. And she did like to visit. And sweep dust bunnies out from under the sofa.
“That was great, Eloise,” Devlin said. “Let’s get another of you holding the broom by the handle as though it were a dead raccoon.”
What?
Apparently, that was the expression on my face at the moment, because Devlin began clicking away.
Wait a minute! “No!” I told him. “You can’t put this in the magazine! I received this exact broom set from my mother-in-law-to-be!”
Devlin chuckled. “That’s quite funny, actually. I’m sure your future mother-in-law has a sense of humor.”
All the women in the conference room turned to stare at Devlin with you’re definitely not married eyes.
Dottie Benjamin did not have a sense of humor. What she had was a warped point of view.
The day after I moved into Noah’s apartment, his parents had come over for our housewarming with resigned expressions and a droopy spider plant. “Herbert and I are traditionalists, dear,” Mrs. Benjamin had said. “We don’t believe in living together. Even if you eventually marry, it’s not the same. Anyway, in my day, a man didn’t buy the cow when he got the milk for free. So if you did marry, you’d still be a free cow.”
That’s almost verbatim, really.
My grandmother had a good laugh over that entire episode. “There’s nothing wrong with living with a man, marriage or no marriage,” Grams had said. “If I’d tested out your grandfather before saying my vows, I might have run for the hills.”
Thank God for my grandmother.
“Devlin, it’s not funny,” I yelped. “She’ll think I’m making fun of her gift!”
As Devlin slipped his camera into its case, Astrid said, “Eloise, there’s a reason neither you nor Philippa have photo approval—if we let you pick and choose every little photo, nothing would be printed. You’d say you looked fat or that your hair looked too brassy or that you had something in your teeth.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
This was so much worse than handing over control to bossy relatives. I’d handed over control to a bossy…boss.
In my in-box, as though it were one of Wow ’s to-the-circular-file memos about wasting copy paper or a warning that lunch was one hour, not one hour and fifteen minutes, was the Modern Bride’s Wedding Plans Schedule.
I picked up the three-page packet, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and started reading.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
I was getting married on February 29.
Take head, thump on desk. Hard. Repeat.
Why did this year happen to be a leap year? Why, why, why?
Modern Bride’s Wedding Date: February 29: Marrying on a day that comes only once every four years is a truly modern thing to do.
Take head, thump on desk. Again.
My friends were wearing rubber dresses to my wedding, the anniversary of which I would celebrate only every four years.
February 29 was two months from now. Less than two months, really.
It could take me eight weeks alone to work up the guts to tell Astrid that my bridesmaids were not wearing rubber to my wedding. That I wasn’t getting married on leap year. That they weren’t running that photo of me grimacing in pain over the mini-broom and dustpan set.
With one eye opened, I read the rest of the schedule.
Wedding-gown shopping: For photographs, please bring along one of the following: a mother, a grandmother or your maid or
I’d torn up the card in a hundred tiny pieces and threw the stupid mini-broom and dustpan in the garbage can. An hour later, I pulled them out (it took me an hour to pick off the coffee grounds and stewed tomatoes), just in case Mrs. Benjamin needed to sweep something up during a visit. And she did like to visit. And sweep dust bunnies out from under the sofa.
“That was great, Eloise,” Devlin said. “Let’s get another of you holding the broom by the handle as though it were a dead raccoon.”
What?
Apparently, that was the expression on my face at the moment, because Devlin began clicking away.
Wait a minute! “No!” I told him. “You can’t put this in the magazine! I received this exact broom set from my mother-in-law-to-be!”
Devlin chuckled. “That’s quite funny, actually. I’m sure your future mother-in-law has a sense of humor.”
All the women in the conference room turned to stare at Devlin with you’re definitely not married eyes.
Dottie Benjamin did not have a sense of humor. What she had was a warped point of view.
The day after I moved into Noah’s apartment, his parents had come over for our housewarming with resigned expressions and a droopy spider plant. “Herbert and I are traditionalists, dear,” Mrs. Benjamin had said. “We don’t believe in living together. Even if you eventually marry, it’s not the same. Anyway, in my day, a man didn’t buy the cow when he got the milk for free. So if you did marry, you’d still be a free cow.”
That’s almost verbatim, really.
My grandmother had a good laugh over that entire episode. “There’s nothing wrong with living with a man, marriage or no marriage,” Grams had said. “If I’d tested out your grandfather before saying my vows, I might have run for the hills.”
Thank God for my grandmother.
“Devlin, it’s not funny,” I yelped. “She’ll think I’m making fun of her gift!”
As Devlin slipped his camera into its case, Astrid said, “Eloise, there’s a reason neither you nor Philippa have photo approval—if we let you pick and choose every little photo, nothing would be printed. You’d say you looked fat or that your hair looked too brassy or that you had something in your teeth.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
This was so much worse than handing over control to bossy relatives. I’d handed over control to a bossy…boss.
In my in-box, as though it were one of Wow ’s to-the-circular-file memos about wasting copy paper or a warning that lunch was one hour, not one hour and fifteen minutes, was the Modern Bride’s Wedding Plans Schedule.
I picked up the three-page packet, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and started reading.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
I was getting married on February 29.
Take head, thump on desk. Hard. Repeat.
Why did this year happen to be a leap year? Why, why, why?
Modern Bride’s Wedding Date: February 29: Marrying on a day that comes only once every four years is a truly modern thing to do.
Take head, thump on desk. Again.
My friends were wearing rubber dresses to my wedding, the anniversary of which I would celebrate only every four years.
February 29 was two months from now. Less than two months, really.
It could take me eight weeks alone to work up the guts to tell Astrid that my bridesmaids were not wearing rubber to my wedding. That I wasn’t getting married on leap year. That they weren’t running that photo of me grimacing in pain over the mini-broom and dustpan set.
With one eye opened, I read the rest of the schedule.
Wedding-gown shopping: For photographs, please bring along one of the following: a mother, a grandmother or your maid or
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