© 2002 Brian Hodges - Please do not remove the copyright from this essay

proposed to Lauren just under a year ago, and the wedding plans have been an all-consuming part of our lives ever since. Churches, reception halls, tuxes, centerpieces, invitations… you know the drill. Lauren has entrusted as little of the planning process to me as possible. Which is probably a good thing considering my wedding mentality has been along the lines of, "Flowers? We need flowers?" My responsibilities up to this point have simply been to say, "Yeah," and "Great."

Lauren: Do you like this pattern for the invitations?

Me: Yeah.

Lauren: What do you think of this font?

Me: Great.

I do have veto power should I choose to wield it, but honestly, as far as invitations go, I say, "As long as they can read it and it gets them here, great." I’ve stored up my blackballs for important things like dishes and bedspreads. I don’t mind flowers on an invitation, but I refuse to eat or sleep on them for the rest of my life. Actually registering was one of the best parts of this whole process. I had originally had this picture in my head of some librarian following us around, offering Martha-inspired advice, all the while thinking, "Good God, what kind of white trash would pick that towel set." Instead they cut us loose with our own scanner, which I think is the most brilliant marketing tool in the history of bridal registries. Honestly, what man wants to spend three hours at Bed Bath & Beyond? But give him a laser gun… Yeah, you guys know.

The few tasks I was actually responsible for were the ones I wanted to make absolutely sure did not get screwed up, such as the DJ and videographer. Sure, procuring a church and minister are wonderful and important and all, but for somebody working in the media industry, showmanship is the most important thing. I have been to far too many weddings where the music was uninspired (Honestly, who decided that "Last Dance", a song which is neither fast nor slow, had to be the send off at every single wedding?) and seen far too many wedding videos that even the bride and groom get bored watching. So now, our DJ has a comprehensive list of Do’s and Don’ts (there will be NO Macarenaing of any kind), and our ceremony has become a three-camera digital shoot, with two roving cameras, manned by trusted co-workers, and a direct feed from the sound board. And, it’s all being edited by my creative-as-hell future brother-in-law, Chris – whose demo reel is available for anybody hiring.

The final task I was put in charge of was the all-important wedding night. Again, it’s all about the showmanship. Wait, that’s not right is it? There were six things I knew I needed; rose petals for the bed, champagne and strawberries for… well, because that’s what they did in Pretty Woman, candles to create "the mood", scented bubble bath for the post, uh… champagne, and of course, some sexy lingerie because at some point in time, some guy in some boardroom decided that men should pay loads of money for an article of clothing specifically designed to be worn for as little time as possible. The former three items on the list were easily acquired with three quick phone calls. The latter three required me to leave the comfort of my chair, venture out into the malls of New Jersey and interact with store clerks who know that my end result in patronizing their establishments – no matter how euphemistically they dress it up – is SEX.

Bath & Body Works was supposed to be the easiest of the three, yet I still couldn’t help but break into a cold sweat as soon as I walked in. There can be only two explanations for a twenty-four-year-old male buying three different scented bubble baths and their corresponding soaps. Either he’s fruity as hell, or he’s trying to get some. I tried to be as quick as I could, smelling bottles and deciding which ones Lauren would really like. But the B&BW staff is nothing if not prompt and courteous. Every two minutes, "Can I help you find something sir? Are you doing okay sir?" They all had knowing smiles on their faces. Nazis.

A half-hour later, bubble bath in hand, I headed over to the Yankee Candle Shop. I had been advised by my future mother-in-law to ask the staff what scents they had specifically for wedding nights. Christ, my own mother-in-law knows I’m trying to score with her daughter and is giving me tips on how to do it! The first person to ask if I needed any help was a seventeen-year-old girl, working her first or second shift. "Can I help you?" "Um… Hi underage girl. I’m looking for a scented candle that will cause a woman’s bra to spontaneously leap from her firm yet supple breasts." With a face turning as red as mine, the only advice she could muster was to "stay away from the pumpkin pie and other such scents." Fortunately, I stumbled upon a candle that was made of "xiang-xiung and mimosa" and which was labeled simply, "Sensual." Great. I bought two. The virginal clerk rung me up and I left, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

Now, I’m not completely sheltered. I have been inside a Victoria’s Secret before. But, always with a girl. That’s about the only place where I not only feel comfortable, but actually encourage, holding a purse. Because, they always seem to put the dressing rooms right next to the Wonderbras and thongs. At least if I’m holding a purse, they know that I’m waiting for somebody – a woman – and I’m not just sniffing the panties. But this past weekend was the first time I had ever entered the bright pink store alone.

So in I strolled in with my bubble bath and my scented candles, reeking of a man whose sole mission is to get laid. The first problem I had with this particular Victoria’s Secret was that they had their lingerie section split between opposite sides of a half-wall. And all the lingerie from the left side was being displayed by the mannequins on the right side. So I had to keep looking at a (slip?) and committing it to memory as I walked around the half-wall to see how it looked on the mannequin. Then I would walk back around to the first side, just to make sure that what the mannequin was wearing was, in fact, what I had been looking at. Now, you’re probably saying to yourself, "Self, wouldn’t it have been easier to just bring the (nightie?) with you to compare it with the mannequin?" Well yes, in a perfect world. But I’m the kind of shopper who, when I really don’t know what to get, I get everything just to be safe. I would have been walking around with unmanageable armloads of silky material. I was trying to keep a low profile.

Of course, my real problems started as I was looking at a couple of (negligées?) not being modeled by mannequins. This was where my damn overactive brain nearly got me in trouble. I couldn’t help it. I started thinking of all those movies that (I’m told) they show on Cinemax after eleven on a Friday night, where the nerdy hero asks the sexy sales woman to model the (kimono?) for him, which she does, and then they get it on in the dressing room. You know that feeling you get when you sense a laugh coming on at a funeral? You try and choke it down, but it keeps fighting for the surface. Your face contorts and your eyes tear up as you pretend to just be stifling a cough. Yep, try doing that in the lingerie section sometime. My only recourse was to constantly keep my back to the sales women – who no man would really want modeling lingerie for him anyway. This is New Jersey after all.

Thank God this was the only store where nobody asked me if I needed any help. What would I have said? "Yeah hi, I’m looking for something I can pull off with my teeth right before I have SEX." I finally picked three silky (intimate apparels?) that I thought would look good on Lauren, and made my way to the checkout counter. I had this fear standing that the cashier would scoff at my selections or, even worse, tell me that the colors didn’t match or something. I think my head would have spontaneously combusted at that point. But she simply rung me up, wisely avoiding trying to get me to sign up for an Angel’s credit card. So, I took my bubble bath, my scented candles and my pink striped bag full of (unmentionables?), and walked as fast as I could through the mall and parking lot to my car where I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, only an hour had passed.

I’ve heard all the stories people tell about getting cold feet just before their wedding, and personally, I can’t identify. From the very first weekend we met, I knew on some level that Lauren was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. She’s the only woman for whom I would embarrass myself a thousand times over. Whether I’m under pervert watch at the mall, or acting as her exam guinea pig for nursing school, she’s worth the red face and cold sweat. Because when all is said and done, I know she’d do the same for me. I am my beloved’s fool and my beloved is mine. Lauren and I will be married this Sunday, July 14. And I can’t wait. I know that this is just the beginning of a long and embarrassing life together… Wait, that really did sound way more romantic in my head.