The Princess and the Miser
Ever since I was a little girl I’ve planned my wedding. Unknown to most people, little girls are actually born with an umbilical cord, placenta, and the most recent issue of Bridal Magazine. The planning process is a lifetime thing, though very much subject to change. In fact it’s almost a prerequisite. During the course of her single life she will try on the last name of any single man within ten years of her age bracket whether she finds him appealing or not. If his last name clashes with hers, then she will seriously rethink any possible relationship, whether they or dating or not. I have personally yet to find any last name that goes spectacularly well with my own, and if I ever did I am not quite sure what I would do. If my circumstances were different I would be forced to marry that person purely based on my future last name, which I am sure is not the best thing to base a marriage off of, so I may have to forgo that, especially since my significant other would no doubt not be pleased with me should I do such a thing. Truly though, a last name can at times make or break a relationship. To wed someone with the last name of Hammerbottom or some such unprepossessing thing can at times be a major strain on a relationship. A woman’s first thought is towards her offspring, existent or not and to know that her young will have to face school for so many years with continual jaunts and jeers leads her to rethink her choice of a husband. In the primitive days women would go for men who were strong, good hunters and grew a lot of hair. Now in modern times they choose the man whose last name is least likely to cause their children to be shoved in lockers and have obscene chants made for them.
Besides the last name thing, we females always have a million ludicrous expectations of what our future husbands will be like. We have a very long and specific list we’ve been accumulating since we were children, and it has only been added to it over the years. We tend to desire men who are kind, good with children and animals, successful, ambitious, honest, financially very secure (bordering on rich actually), tall, muscular, incredibly handsome, suave, sophisticated, sensitive, generous, well bred, talented, intelligent, musical, loyal, committed, brave, strong, adept, witty, humorous, brooding, and preferably within a ten year age span of us. The list of qualifications for a husband is impossibly long and incredibly detailed. It is not uncommon to find such things as, “Can play Chopin on the piano and harpsichord backwards and underwater while reciting poetry in latin”, written on them. As we mature and gain experience with the opposite sex though, our expectations turn realistic and we usually settle for someone who’s not too fat, not too ugly, and has no (or at least only a minor), prison record. Regardless of how many things we’ve had to cross off our lengthy list, we females usually tend to be pretty hung up over any fellow we deem husband worthy, and if all goes right, the excitement of wedding planning begins. This can happen as early as after the first date with said possible husband, just so long as she doesn’t clue him in on it. And so here I am, in such a state. I am nowhere near getting married, I have not been asked nor can I foresee that happening for a while, but that does not stop me from being in a major dilemma. It is the case of what I like to call, the princess and the miser.
All my life I have planned to be rich. Don’t ask me how, it was simply going to happen. I went through dozens of possible careers throughout my childhood, and whether it was an archeologist or a horse trainer, it was going to make me a wealthy woman. After all, how else was I going to afford my mansion? Since such large sums of money were in my future, I naturally didn’t have to worry about wedding costs. I was free to dream up gloriously beautiful garlands of flowers strung across the walls of my nineteenth century Victorian home, several cakes of every flavor and decoration on tables surrounded by French chefs in those stupid white hats standing by, their faces bearing the proud expression very much akin to new parents looking upon their infant. Red and yellow rose pedals would adorn the ENTIRE floor of my enormous personal ballroom, I would be led by my new husband around our seven hundred acre property, atop a dapple grey stallion with wavy hair, my beautiful Vera Wang dress cascading past my feet where I rode demurely and elegantly, side saddle of course. Doves and other various pretty winged creatures would be released and more rose petals thrown into the air, everyone would be in resplendent finery, though none so much as my own of course. An authentic Gaelic band would play at the reception, where my husband and I would dance a merry little jig, much to the delight and entertainment of my five hundred or so guests. There would be dancing, and music, and pretty horses, and an absolutely stunning gown that Cinderella herself would be jealous of. Oh yes, this was to be my wedding. After all, I was going to be rich wasn’t I? I deserved it didn’t I? I mean, it was MY day. I was the bride! Really, I’ve come to find that the word bride is pretty much synonymous with princess. If you look at all the pictures in wedding magazines and books, you’ll find there is an uncanny resemblance. Many of them even wear tiaras and pose on brilliant red carpeted staircases of some fancy abode that is costing them three month’s rent just to use for the picture. Yes, despite the fact that most men think a wedding is a ceremony who’s purpose is to legally bind their girlfriend to them as their spouse, to most women an actual wedding is the one and only time in her life when she will get to be a princess for a day, wear a beautiful dress, be the center of attention, and be given loads of presents by people she may or many not even know. It’s like being thrust into the finale of a Disney cartoon, right where everyone gets their just rewards, the couple gets together and ride off in the sunset on their great big pumpkin- like carriage. What woman doesn’t dream of that? What woman doesn’t want that? Well, I suppose there are some who don’t, but I always did. I am not a very prissy girl, I don’t wear high heels with jeans, I don’t wear dresses and lipstick unless necessary, I’m fairly unfussy, but despite my simple ways and no fuss personality, I could not help but desire to be a princess for just one day. After all, it was the only day I was going to get! I would go to other people’s weddings and smile politely and eat their cheap cake and Costco cashew nuts and think, “Oh that poor bride. A pity she had to settle for a reception in a gym when I’m going to have my own ballroom. Oh well, it’s a nice enough reception I suppose. At least they’ll be happy. But I am SOOOO not going to be like that. I do need a better place to ride my horse after all.” And I would continue to dream about my own wedding, despite the fact that I did not even KNOW any available young men, let alone be dating one. Still, I had things planned out.
Now, years later I am twenty two. Am I close to marriage? Not as yet. Am I rich? Decidedly no. I don’t even have my own bike, let alone a dapple grey stallion with wavy hair. This has made me rethink my plans a little bit. True, I still plan to be fabulously wealthy someday. Still don’t know how I’m gonna do it, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. In the meantime, the miser has started to take over. There’s an overwhelming sense of shock when you realize that you are in fact a poor broke person and that despite all your dreams, you are likely to stay that way for quite some time. No one is going to pay for your wedding, there is no fairy godmother who comes and waves her magic wands and suddenly gives you a reception that Cinderella could be envious of. There is in fact a huge bill to pay for being a princess, and often there is no way to actually pay it. You’re not really marrying a prince, you’re just marrying a guy in a tux that he doesn’t even own, and as much as you’d like him to be your hero, he’s not gonna be able to pull you out of the hole of debt that you’d be throwing yourself into if you really did go nuts for your wedding. No. I suddenly realized that my funds would have to come from myself. From the ice cream in the punch to the wavy haired stallion, I would have to pay for it. Frankly, I don’t have much money, certainly not enough to be even renting any equestrian creatures, let alone a palace and doves and all that crap. The more I thought about it, the more the church gym was sounding good to me. Maybe these other couples were smarter than I was. After all, paying the rent was probably a bit more important than renting crystal champagne flutes for my sparkling cider. And after all is said and done, it is just a fancy party that only lasts for one day. Eviction is a much more unpleasant experience than a less than mind blowing reception. One has to be realistic about one’s budget and not be too frivolous if one wants to have the luxuries of life, like food and electricity. Yes indeed, it looked as though my sisters and all of those other people who had similar receptions were actually smarter than I realized. And so here I am, torn between two desires. The desire to be a princess and the desire to eat! The miser and the princess. They are both screaming in my ear opposite things and wearing their prospective wedding gowns as they each barter for their case. The princess wears a Vera Wang gown of hand made lace and beads, a ten foot train trails behind her and she jumps up and down screaming, “It’s MY day! It’s MY day! The only freakin day I’ll ever have! You expect me to give this up!? Don’t I deserve it? Don’t I DESERVE it?!!” She’s immaculate, her makeup and hair done by professionals, but her face is bright red from screaming and throwing her temper tantrums all about how this is the one day she gets to celebrate her marriage and that everyone else gets to have these lovely fancy weddings and why can’t she? And after all, this is theoretically her only chance to do something like this, so why would I want to throw it all away? She’s quite persuasive at times, for she’s a very good sweet talker and used to getting her way. Meanwhile on the other side is the miser. Her dress is pretty, but tasteful and made by a woman who specializes in making wedding dresses at home and thankfully she’s cheap! Her hair and makeup are done by herself and she very calmly and rationally makes her case. “You should save your money Heidi. The wedding is not as important as what you make of your life after it, and you’re going to need money for that. Don’t be frivolous and vain, be smart. It takes money to live on your own and you don’t want to be selfish and start your life in debt!” It’s around this point that the princess throws her shoe at the miser’s face and a brawl begins. I tend to solve it by not thinking about it. After all, it’s not like I’m engaged or anything! I don’t need to worry about it yet! But still, I know there’s a rather nasty fight between the two lurking around the corner in my future someday, and when it hits I really don’t want to be there! In the meantime though, I think I’ll price out cashews at Costco…
Ever since I was a little girl I’ve planned my wedding. Unknown to most people, little girls are actually born with an umbilical cord, placenta, and the most recent issue of Bridal Magazine. The planning process is a lifetime thing, though very much subject to change. In fact it’s almost a prerequisite. During the course of her single life she will try on the last name of any single man within ten years of her age bracket whether she finds him appealing or not. If his last name clashes with hers, then she will seriously rethink any possible relationship, whether they or dating or not. I have personally yet to find any last name that goes spectacularly well with my own, and if I ever did I am not quite sure what I would do. If my circumstances were different I would be forced to marry that person purely based on my future last name, which I am sure is not the best thing to base a marriage off of, so I may have to forgo that, especially since my significant other would no doubt not be pleased with me should I do such a thing. Truly though, a last name can at times make or break a relationship. To wed someone with the last name of Hammerbottom or some such unprepossessing thing can at times be a major strain on a relationship. A woman’s first thought is towards her offspring, existent or not and to know that her young will have to face school for so many years with continual jaunts and jeers leads her to rethink her choice of a husband. In the primitive days women would go for men who were strong, good hunters and grew a lot of hair. Now in modern times they choose the man whose last name is least likely to cause their children to be shoved in lockers and have obscene chants made for them.
Besides the last name thing, we females always have a million ludicrous expectations of what our future husbands will be like. We have a very long and specific list we’ve been accumulating since we were children, and it has only been added to it over the years. We tend to desire men who are kind, good with children and animals, successful, ambitious, honest, financially very secure (bordering on rich actually), tall, muscular, incredibly handsome, suave, sophisticated, sensitive, generous, well bred, talented, intelligent, musical, loyal, committed, brave, strong, adept, witty, humorous, brooding, and preferably within a ten year age span of us. The list of qualifications for a husband is impossibly long and incredibly detailed. It is not uncommon to find such things as, “Can play Chopin on the piano and harpsichord backwards and underwater while reciting poetry in latin”, written on them. As we mature and gain experience with the opposite sex though, our expectations turn realistic and we usually settle for someone who’s not too fat, not too ugly, and has no (or at least only a minor), prison record. Regardless of how many things we’ve had to cross off our lengthy list, we females usually tend to be pretty hung up over any fellow we deem husband worthy, and if all goes right, the excitement of wedding planning begins. This can happen as early as after the first date with said possible husband, just so long as she doesn’t clue him in on it. And so here I am, in such a state. I am nowhere near getting married, I have not been asked nor can I foresee that happening for a while, but that does not stop me from being in a major dilemma. It is the case of what I like to call, the princess and the miser.
All my life I have planned to be rich. Don’t ask me how, it was simply going to happen. I went through dozens of possible careers throughout my childhood, and whether it was an archeologist or a horse trainer, it was going to make me a wealthy woman. After all, how else was I going to afford my mansion? Since such large sums of money were in my future, I naturally didn’t have to worry about wedding costs. I was free to dream up gloriously beautiful garlands of flowers strung across the walls of my nineteenth century Victorian home, several cakes of every flavor and decoration on tables surrounded by French chefs in those stupid white hats standing by, their faces bearing the proud expression very much akin to new parents looking upon their infant. Red and yellow rose pedals would adorn the ENTIRE floor of my enormous personal ballroom, I would be led by my new husband around our seven hundred acre property, atop a dapple grey stallion with wavy hair, my beautiful Vera Wang dress cascading past my feet where I rode demurely and elegantly, side saddle of course. Doves and other various pretty winged creatures would be released and more rose petals thrown into the air, everyone would be in resplendent finery, though none so much as my own of course. An authentic Gaelic band would play at the reception, where my husband and I would dance a merry little jig, much to the delight and entertainment of my five hundred or so guests. There would be dancing, and music, and pretty horses, and an absolutely stunning gown that Cinderella herself would be jealous of. Oh yes, this was to be my wedding. After all, I was going to be rich wasn’t I? I deserved it didn’t I? I mean, it was MY day. I was the bride! Really, I’ve come to find that the word bride is pretty much synonymous with princess. If you look at all the pictures in wedding magazines and books, you’ll find there is an uncanny resemblance. Many of them even wear tiaras and pose on brilliant red carpeted staircases of some fancy abode that is costing them three month’s rent just to use for the picture. Yes, despite the fact that most men think a wedding is a ceremony who’s purpose is to legally bind their girlfriend to them as their spouse, to most women an actual wedding is the one and only time in her life when she will get to be a princess for a day, wear a beautiful dress, be the center of attention, and be given loads of presents by people she may or many not even know. It’s like being thrust into the finale of a Disney cartoon, right where everyone gets their just rewards, the couple gets together and ride off in the sunset on their great big pumpkin- like carriage. What woman doesn’t dream of that? What woman doesn’t want that? Well, I suppose there are some who don’t, but I always did. I am not a very prissy girl, I don’t wear high heels with jeans, I don’t wear dresses and lipstick unless necessary, I’m fairly unfussy, but despite my simple ways and no fuss personality, I could not help but desire to be a princess for just one day. After all, it was the only day I was going to get! I would go to other people’s weddings and smile politely and eat their cheap cake and Costco cashew nuts and think, “Oh that poor bride. A pity she had to settle for a reception in a gym when I’m going to have my own ballroom. Oh well, it’s a nice enough reception I suppose. At least they’ll be happy. But I am SOOOO not going to be like that. I do need a better place to ride my horse after all.” And I would continue to dream about my own wedding, despite the fact that I did not even KNOW any available young men, let alone be dating one. Still, I had things planned out.
Now, years later I am twenty two. Am I close to marriage? Not as yet. Am I rich? Decidedly no. I don’t even have my own bike, let alone a dapple grey stallion with wavy hair. This has made me rethink my plans a little bit. True, I still plan to be fabulously wealthy someday. Still don’t know how I’m gonna do it, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. In the meantime, the miser has started to take over. There’s an overwhelming sense of shock when you realize that you are in fact a poor broke person and that despite all your dreams, you are likely to stay that way for quite some time. No one is going to pay for your wedding, there is no fairy godmother who comes and waves her magic wands and suddenly gives you a reception that Cinderella could be envious of. There is in fact a huge bill to pay for being a princess, and often there is no way to actually pay it. You’re not really marrying a prince, you’re just marrying a guy in a tux that he doesn’t even own, and as much as you’d like him to be your hero, he’s not gonna be able to pull you out of the hole of debt that you’d be throwing yourself into if you really did go nuts for your wedding. No. I suddenly realized that my funds would have to come from myself. From the ice cream in the punch to the wavy haired stallion, I would have to pay for it. Frankly, I don’t have much money, certainly not enough to be even renting any equestrian creatures, let alone a palace and doves and all that crap. The more I thought about it, the more the church gym was sounding good to me. Maybe these other couples were smarter than I was. After all, paying the rent was probably a bit more important than renting crystal champagne flutes for my sparkling cider. And after all is said and done, it is just a fancy party that only lasts for one day. Eviction is a much more unpleasant experience than a less than mind blowing reception. One has to be realistic about one’s budget and not be too frivolous if one wants to have the luxuries of life, like food and electricity. Yes indeed, it looked as though my sisters and all of those other people who had similar receptions were actually smarter than I realized. And so here I am, torn between two desires. The desire to be a princess and the desire to eat! The miser and the princess. They are both screaming in my ear opposite things and wearing their prospective wedding gowns as they each barter for their case. The princess wears a Vera Wang gown of hand made lace and beads, a ten foot train trails behind her and she jumps up and down screaming, “It’s MY day! It’s MY day! The only freakin day I’ll ever have! You expect me to give this up!? Don’t I deserve it? Don’t I DESERVE it?!!” She’s immaculate, her makeup and hair done by professionals, but her face is bright red from screaming and throwing her temper tantrums all about how this is the one day she gets to celebrate her marriage and that everyone else gets to have these lovely fancy weddings and why can’t she? And after all, this is theoretically her only chance to do something like this, so why would I want to throw it all away? She’s quite persuasive at times, for she’s a very good sweet talker and used to getting her way. Meanwhile on the other side is the miser. Her dress is pretty, but tasteful and made by a woman who specializes in making wedding dresses at home and thankfully she’s cheap! Her hair and makeup are done by herself and she very calmly and rationally makes her case. “You should save your money Heidi. The wedding is not as important as what you make of your life after it, and you’re going to need money for that. Don’t be frivolous and vain, be smart. It takes money to live on your own and you don’t want to be selfish and start your life in debt!” It’s around this point that the princess throws her shoe at the miser’s face and a brawl begins. I tend to solve it by not thinking about it. After all, it’s not like I’m engaged or anything! I don’t need to worry about it yet! But still, I know there’s a rather nasty fight between the two lurking around the corner in my future someday, and when it hits I really don’t want to be there! In the meantime though, I think I’ll price out cashews at Costco…
posted by Ezre at 8:03 PM
3 Comments:
Very well put. And glad to hear your thoughts. A good friend of mine is going through Bridezilla with her sister, who while not paying for her stuff, is putting her poor parents further in debt with her selfishness (they are in medical debt from her mother's chronic insomnia). Anyhow, there are ways to have a compromise, seeing as you'll be wed in the temple (no cost there), and probably have a church gym or outdoor area (depending on season) you'll have little to no cost there, you can splurge more on the dress, photography (which is no doubt the most expensive part if you don't have connections!), etc. You will find connections, WONDERFUL connections, the lady at his home ward who makes and decorates weddings cakes beautifully-as a hobby!- so that's inexpensive, the girl in the singles ward getting her degree in cosmetology who would love to do your hair as practice in exchange for a few pictures for her professional notebook. We thrive on connections!! So you WILL be a princess, just a slightly prudent one. And usually parents DO help pay or entirely pay for reception bills. The way I see it, if I can get my kid to the temple unmarred by the world I will GLADLY foot the bill for the party afterward!
Cashews run about $10.00 for 2.5 lbs at Costco.
I can tell you that you might be happier to listen to the miser for more reasons than just the money aspect. For one thing...even though you think the wedding reception is about you, its also about people walking by to see you look pretty and smile. Start practicing the smile now, and maybe when you get married your face won't hurt so much at the end of the day. Practice getting your picture taken without accidentally closing your eyes. Remember that the Vera Wang Dress and the heels that go with it might not be very comfortable to stand around in for hours on end.
Our wedding was relatively inexpensive. You have some of the same connections that I had. You have a sister that will do a beautiful and much less expensive job on the flowers, and a brother-in-law that does great photography, and has a much better camera than he did when I got married. You have a sister than for some insane reason would stay up all night making truffles for you if you decided you liked that idea more than buying some, and a family that could come up with some great ideas for disguising that basketball hoop in the gym as something more...romantic. All you need is to find someone who loves you and will make a beautiful cake for your reception (in my case it was a wedding gift from a Mom of one of my friends) or you can live dangerously and get cheesecake or sheet cakes from Costco and just have a small professionally done cake for the pictures. As a miser, you can design your own dress! And wouldn't that be fabulous. What better way to be a princess than to have people compliment your beautiful dress and admit that you designed it yourself! Besides that, once you get to the wedding point of life, both the princess and the miser are going to be so smitten with the groom, that they will be too distracted to fight. (Plus did you know that you can often buy a tux for not much more than they cost to rent, and then you could make him dress up as the prince whenever you wanted to, until he gains too much weight from your good cooking.) Boy, so I am looking forward to helping you with your wedding...how long do I have to wait?
You write very well.
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