|Photo from SomethingBlueBook.com|
Registering for your wedding is a daunting task in itself. Registering for your wedding when your groom is Rutherford, is a whole different deal…entirely.
Now, since we live in sin we already have a house full of stuff and weren’t really interested in registering to begin win. But since my future mother-in-law told us we needed to, we did. Also, people want to get you gifts, there’s no getting around that and as a bonus, whatever you register for that is not purchased, you get a huge discount on after your wedding date. Score!
My handsome groom and I are no strangers to registering since we do have the Boogie. I won’t even go into what an experience that trip was. Just picture Rutherford with this scanner gun and interesting sense of humor and me fat and hormonal. After we went to Bass Pro Shops because he said he needed a testosterone influence.
This time was quite a bit different with the baby in tow. I will never do that again. Armed with snacks, juice, and an iPhone full of Yo Gabba Gabba we were off to Bed, Bath & Beyond.
Am I the only one who gets giddy upon walking in those doors? It’s like they pipe in motivation and inspiration through the air ducts. Like Vegas only less skeezy.
Now Rutherford takes on the job of being Captain Scanner while I just point and tell him how much. This is the fun part. I want this and this and this and three of these in red.
We finished up by the candy and I actually had to stop him from registering for Skittles. Seriously.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if someone was looking at our registry and they saw we had all kinds of candy on there?”
“Don’t be funny on my registry.”
By this point I was done, the baby had been done for awhile and I needed to get Rutherford out of there before he started registering for all the As Seen On TV crap.
A few days later I mentioned to him that I had gone back on our registry and added a mandoline. That’s M-A-N-D-O-L-I-N-E…with an E. The E being very important and the difference between sweet folksy sound and dinner.
He looked at me like I was nuts and says, “Why in the hell would you want to register for a tiny guitar?”
I can’t make this up.
I’m not even sure what use I would have for a tiny guitar, which would explain the crazy look he gave me.
That night, over a well deserved glass of wine, Rutherford says to me, “You know, registering is like Fantasy Football. You make your picks and then sit back and hope for the best.”