Operation Plan A Little Wedding That’s Not A Big Hairy Deal has officially failed, I think.
Today I made a phone call to Ireland, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice, and recited my name and order number and politely pointed out that I ordered Otto’s wedding ring three weeks ago and could they perhaps tell me when it might be arriving, or maybe just send me some valium in the meantime? But it was all good, because it turns out that Otto’s ring had just come up from the workshop (where it was presumably forged by dozens of underpaid leprechauns) this morning, and will be shipping out tomorrow. No worries there.
No, the ring won’t be a problem. The problem is that—as it stands at this moment—I think we’re all going to have to drive through Wendy’s for chicken nuggets after the ceremony. Frostys for everyone!
Look, I don’t need anything super-fancy. We’re just a small group of family who will happen to be wearing some pretty clothing and wanting to sit down to a nice dinner in a couple of weeks. And I’ve been pretty busy with, I don’t know, buying shoes, and boobs, and working, and having my credit card stolen, and dealing with the realtor suggesting that we drop the price on the house, and asking the
goats children if they were raised in a barn and PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CLOSE THE DOOR ALREADY, and well, how hard could it be to get a restaurant to feed a dozen people on a Friday night, really?
Hahahaha. Silly me! You see, it turns out that restaurants do not exist to actually feed people in medium-sized groups. Seek ye sustenance elsewhere, Goldilocks! They will happily take in a normal table’s worth of folks, or rent out a room to a large group. One local restaurant I had stupidly set my heart on because it has good food for reasonable prices and is cute and lovely and has all that cultured ambiance stuff that involves candles and crÃ¨me brÃ»lÃ©e. (Any dessert that requires a blowtorch and multiple accent marks gets a thumbs-up from me. Because I am fancy.) That would be perfect, don’t you think? Yes!
Except that they refuse to seat such a large party in the main restaurant, and there’s a thousand dollar minimum in the party room. And party all you want, but a grand to feed a dozen people is a bit overmuch even if you order a stupid amount of alcohol. (And wouldn’t THAT be a great idea, after making everyone drive forever to get here, and then ducking out immediately after dinner and leaving them all to their own devices. “Well! Sorry you’re so drunk! But we have to leave now, so, um, hey, if you start walking now, you might be home before we get back from the honeymoon. Okay, bye!”)
I talked to a sweet young thing on the phone there last week, and today in desperation I dropped in, hoping to make sad puppy eyes at the manager. For my trouble I got to talk to the OWNER, who stifled his urge to laugh at me while trying to communicate as tactfully as possible that they will have plenty of business without us. I found this irritating. I mean, we’re unlikely to go somewhere that we CAN’T have a separate room, because there will be small children and also it would be nice to have a bit of privacy, but for someone to basically say “we will not accommodate you in any form, don’t come to our restaurant” just makes me want to tell them what they can do with their crÃ¨me brÃ»lÃ©e.
Of course, I’d been through a similar scenario (minus the dropping by to be told to go away part) with several other places, as well, so we went ahead and stopped at the ONE local restaurant that had been more than happy to allow me to book their function room. The manager was friendly and there was a basket of lollipops at the hostess stand, so I was able to secure the children’s compliance. Lollipops firmly clamped in their jaws, I guided them up the stairs so we could check out The Room.
It was perfect. If I want to spend dinner after my wedding feeling like I got all dressed up to eat in somebody’s attic. Somebody’s dimly-lit, depressing, 1970’s-furnished attic.
Aaaaaand then I spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone, and on the computer, and feeling like PERHAPS I should’ve gotten this figured out a little bit sooner, but WHO KNEW that dinner for a group this small was going to be SO FREAKING COMPLICATED? (Okay, maybe YOU knew. I did not. Because when is the last time I took a dozen people out for dinner? Oh, that’s right. Never.)
I am awaiting a return phone call from a place that is perfect and is likely to take us on, but is more expensive than what I wanted and also a town over from the church (which is already a town over from HERE). Because when I said the wedding would be no big deal I meant that everyone would have to drive forever to get there and THEN head out in rush hour traffic to drive another 30-40 minutes to get to dinner while I spend the entire time apologizing for the bother.
So, um, when Otto’s ring gets here, I’ve decided to have it engraved with “If you’re wearing this ring, hopefully you don’t care where we’re having dinner.” I hope they can fit all that in.