Our wedding planners all seem a cross between a Cherie Oteri SNL character and Annette Bening in American Beauty*.
At our very first visit today, Planner Lady #1 regarded us as low bank-balanced folks who would need her help to cover any bill. When we told her we were both currently living in Jersey, she abandoned use of polysyllables. “You know what cuts down on prices?" said she, "Serving a brunch instead of a lunch!” You know what cuts down your chances of getting our commission? That teethgrinding smile!
She went on. “We are very exclusive. A lot of famous people are members of our club.” All that evocative talk got me imagining the perfect parenthetical aside to tack on to our invite: “(Our union will be christened by God and, at any time, milady and I may be lucky enough to be upstaged by, like, Lou Dobbs or who-tf-knows. Deluxe apartment in the starhumping sky!)"
Planner Lady #4, when I explained that I planned to put together a list of songs for a DJ to play, regarded me like I had an actual jackass head coming out of my collar: "Oh, are you a musician? Or a DJ?"
"No."
"Well what kind of music would you be picking out: dance music, or music that was just for you?" Well, all I really want is to play in disc two of The Wall on random all night. Hammer! Hammer!
“All kinds of music,” I said.
“Well, you know a band can really bring something to a party that a DJ just can’t.” This called for something more than a condescending Well, yes, but it was all I could muster.
Assery.
*: Anti-Midwestern claptrap, and still worst. Best. Picture. Ever.
