I have the misfortune of being both a compulsive planner and terribly disorganized. This leads to scenarios like the one that transpired on Friday evening, the night of K and A's rehearsal dinner. Of course I'd known about it for months, had it marked on both my Outlook and the wall calendar in my kitchen, but did that keep me from buying a ticket to the Ben Gibbard show for the same night? Or from putting the concert on both my Outlook AND calendar, right below the rehearsal dinner? And from not noticing "hey there! I have a lot going on that night!" until, um, Wednesday?
Of course the rehearsal dinner trumped Ben Gibbard, but had I known that John Krasinski would not only be onstage with Ben Gibbard, but that John Krasinski would be singing "I Am Trying To Break Your Heart," I can't promise that I would have made the same choice. Furthermore, I can't promise that I wouldn't have sold the groom's grandma for spare cash to bribe my way backstage.
It is a testament to my love for K and A that I did not ditch the wedding entirely to spend the weekend trying to hunt down Jim Halpert. But in the end common decency, happiness for my friends and the anti-stalking statutes of the District of Columbia got me to the synagouge on Saturday.
I knew it would be beautiful, because K has been planning her wedding day pretty much since birth and is blessed with both great taste and a will of reinforced steel. What I was not prepared for was how unbelievably, gorgeously stunning she herself was. Think every cliche you've ever heard about a bride glowing on her wedding day and multiply it tenfold. She was spectacular. K has me thinking I really need to have a wedding soon, because it apparently does absolutely magical things for one's skin and hair. And A didn't look bad, either.
Everyone cried during the weding and danced their best white people dance moves at the reception. Bless them for springing for a band that were once finalists on Star Search. Bless their lead singer for bringing K's mom to the microphone to sing a Patsy Cline number. Bless the expressions of K's Oklahoma-bred parents as they were lifted up on chairs during the horah.
Yes, it might have been even more perfect if John Krasinski had been my date. But watching how insanely happy my friends were and celebrating an amazing start to their marriage, thoughts of "if only" were miles away.
Congratulations, A and K. I love you both even more than John Krasinski singing Wilco.