If you want to talk about the color scheme on our wedding program, though, you better bring it on!
Yesterday I had a small lull at the end of the work day and decided to burn a few minutes looking at options for wedding programs. We have a firm grasp on our invitations, but the invitations we’re interested in don’t have a program of the same style. So I hit the Internet to see what I could find.
Since we’re getting married in front of an old plantation-style house in the middle of a huge botanical garden, Carey thought it might be nice to have the wedding programs be fans as well. It brings back the old Southern image of sitting under a tree, sipping iced teas, and fanning yourself in the heat. I loved that image, so I went looking for some fans.
I found some great choices and called Carey over to my desk. We were looking at them and making the appropriate ooohing and ahhing sounds as we got closer to the one we really liked. I enlarged it, and used the website to make color combinations for the fan and the wording.
One of our primary colors for the wedding is navy blue, so I made the background of the fan that color. I perused the other color choices and picked a nice “mango” color for the text.
It looked awesome. I really, really, liked the way it looked and said so.
Carey just said, “No. It looks too much like University of Florida colors. Besides, they don’t match our wedding colors.”
Did she just say “no” to me? Did she just shut me down without even the chance of compromise or negotiation? She must be out of her damned mind!
I planted my proverbial feet and retorted, “I can’t BELIEVE you’re making a choice like this based on the fact that it reminds you of a college color!”
She said, “I just don’t like the color combination.”
“Because you went to FSU and it reminds you of a college rivalry?” I asked incredulously.
“No,” she said, “… well, that’s part of it, but I have never liked those colors together.”
“You’ve been out of school for ten years,” I shook my head in annoyance. “I can’t accept that. I won’t allow MY wedding to be dictated by some silly loyalty to a school.”
“It’s my opinion,” she glared at me, “are you calling me silly for having an opinion?”
I threw my hands wide, “YES! In this case, I am. I don’t understand that viewpoint, I don’t WANT to understand it. “
She stared at me. Yes, I was being given THE STARE.
“Fine,” I grumbled, shutting off my monitor, “you pick the colors. I don’t get to pick anything anyway – I’m just a spectator in my own wedding.”
“Now you’re just being a jerk,” she said, and stalked out of my office.
We didn’t talk to each other as we got in the car that evening to go home. I drove a good ten miles before she looked over at me and said “Do you want to know why I was angry with you?”
Wait – she was angry at ME? What the hell had I done? Oh wait, I thought to myself sarcastically, I got excited about our wedding and went looking for stuff without asking for permission first.
I didn’t say that, though. She was withing striking distance and I was going 70mph.
I sighed and said, “Why were you angry at me?”
“Because, ” she said, “you didn’t give me a chance to compromise.”
Whhhaaaaaaaa? I blinked.
Then I blinked again. I considered putting a finger in my ear; I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
“You picked blue and orange,” she said, ” and as soon as you heard that one of my reasons for disliking it was because if was Florida’s colors, you shut down and told me to just pick. You didn’t care. You gave up.”
“Well,” I started, “I really, really liked those colors. You didn’t even consider my feeling or desires – you just said “no” and then gave a cock-a-maney excuse that, frankly, doesn’t hold water with me.”
“So my desires don’t count?” she asked, color coming into her cheeks.
“Of course they do,” I said, “when they aren’t based in some silly prejudice.”
I knew I had crossed her line at that point. THE STARE came out again.
“Look,” I said as I tried to plaster myself as far from her as possible in the car, “I love the Washington Capitals. I love Carl Edwards as a NASCAR driver, I like the Red Sox – but I would never base a color choice for my wedding on the fact that the colors were of the Yankees colors, for example. That just doesn’t make sense.”
THE STARE was still boring into my skull.
“Please,” I said miserably, “just give me a reason that isn’t based in this stupid college color rivalry. If you can’t, I won’t be able to let this go and we’ll end up with blue and orange bedsheets and blue and orange trim on the house before it’s over.”
“I already said,” she said through clenched teeth, “that orange is not in our color scheme.”
I was about to let it go and move past, but she wasn’t done with me yet.
“You can’t just dismiss my feelings and opinions just because you don’t understand them, buster.” She wagged a finger at me, “For your information, blue and orange were my high school colors and I didn’t like them then either.”
“OK,” I replied, “but your FIRST response was the truest one. You said no because of college colors and didn’t even give me the chance to talk to you about it. YOU shut ME down.”
She looked at me for a second, “I didn’t mean to.”
“Well you did,” I said petulantly. “And when you did that I just got stubborn and you put me on the offensive. If you had at least said we could discuss it I would have immediately backed down.”
“Ha,” she said, “as if. You latched onto what you thought was my silly opinion and were determined to show me the error of my ways.”
God I hate it when she’s right.
“OK, I’m sorry.” I reached over tentatively to touch her, “You opinions are valid – but I didn’t like how you used it to shut me down completely and take away my choice.”
She put an arm around my shoulder and kissed my ear, “I’m sorry too. We’ll be more sensitive to how we approach these things now.”
She leaned against my shoulder and gently caressed my arm, “So, what colors do you think we should use on the programs?”
I didn’t hesitate, “Blue and orange.”
I never saw the hand that smacked the back of my head. Hard.