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For Our Wedding We’re Registered For All the Items We Destroyed During the Blowout Fight We Had While Registering at Bed Bath and Beyond

We’re officially less than three months away! Eeeep! It’s really happening!

Thank you for RSVP-ing. We are truly blessed to be able to share our special day with so many wonderful friends and family.

Quick FYI: Rooms in the Doyle/Murray block at the Marriott haven’t been filling up quite as fast as we’d anticipated. It’s not a problem, but, for you procrastinators (JK, guys!), March 31st is the deadline for the group rate.

If you are planning on sending a gift, thank you so much! Beginning our life together is definitely going to take some supplies! We’re registered at Bed Bath and Beyond (where else would I go? LOL) and—funny story—while registering we got into this whole drawn-out thing and ended up breaking $4,000 worth of merchandise. So, when you log on you’ll see the items and corresponding amounts we owe the store, since we don’t have close to $4,000 (thanks a lot, student loans!).

I’m not trying to place any blame (Patrick and I did more than enough of that in “Bedding”), but it just wasn’t our day.

Patrick, see, had said he’d forgotten about our appointment; I guess he’d been planning on playing Call of Duty all morning (try more like all month, amiright?). Plus I know he wasn’t too thrilled about me making him change his shirt right before leaving. We get there and meet Jenny, our Registry Coordinator. She was great at listening to all my ideas on color schemes and to Patrick huffing and grunting between shrugs.

We’re browsing through kitchen stuff and, so, Patrick hadn’t had an opinion on trashcans, spatulas, or popcorn poppers (Like, WTF, Patrick, how could you not have an opinion on beige versus taupe?). I don’t know why, but right then I snapped. “Why won’t you take an interest in our fucking life together?” I cried, hurling a $600 juicer to the ground. Sure, I could’ve punctuated my doubt in our union with a $200 juicer—or, conceivably, a $4 cutting board—but that’s not the journey our relationship chose.

We were both stunned. Maybe from the juicer or maybe from when I continued, saying I should have stayed with my ex, Dennis, who’s a CPA now and who recently asked to connect with me on LinkedIn. I thought we could calm down, but Patrick snatched a titanium ladle and proceeded to bash in four different saucepans covers. And now I’m all, “Why did you smash the expensive copper ones?”

“Oh, you always need to make all the decisions?”

That irritated me. It’s not like I make all the decisions, but someone needs to make the sensible choice with important stuff sometimes. (Mrs. Murray, you know what I mean. Remember screenwriting school?).  I didn’t have anything clever to say so instead I whipped the spatula out of the cart.  It flew thirty feet and broke some martini glasses.

“Is everything okay,” Jenny said as she hurried over.

“It’s fine,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Jenny,” Patrick chimed, “Sorry for being a real pill earlier, but does this store sell ammunition?”  Jenny’s face squinted, perplexed. “I’m looking to register for a single bullet. I think it’d really go well in my brain.” (Like, OMG, Patrick, did you really just say that?)

Jenny dialed her manager.  We’d gone Bed Bath and Beyond her training.  The next part I really only remember in snippets (and I hadn’t even had any tequila! LOL. Go State!). I’d sprinted towards the back of the store. Definitely anger crying.  Patrick followed. We’re both screaming over everyone now. I start destroying these outdoor clocks—chanting some tired metaphor about wasting time (We all know Patrick’s always been the creative one).  

Frames with stock photos of smiling families caught my eye. Wielding my lipstick I began scrawling “LIES” all over them.  Patrick, meanwhile, had draped a floor lamp with quilts and dark curtains.  He’d positioned this tacky piece of generic pop art atop of the lamp—I guess it might’ve looked a little like me.  The whole effigy he’d surrounded in mirrors before searching for his lighter.  His shrieks grew louder. “I’m participating! Emily, see, I’m fucking participating!”

Anyways, here’s the link.  Can’t wait for May!

 

Love,

Emily (Soon to be Murray!) Doyle

 


 

Written by Justin Gawel

Justin Gawel

Justin Gawel is a selfish man who lives in Northern Michigan.

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