Canceling a wedding is like dropping a rock in a lake and being forced to watch the ripples fan out from the point of impact. The first ripple, of course, is the financial loss suffered by the bride and groom's families. In my case, there was the pre-booked venue, overpriced florists, fall-themed decor, upstate Hudson Valley–inspired menu, and slew of other prepaid vendors with nonrefundable deposits.
And then there are the financial losses endured by the nearly 120 guests who reserved hotels, rental cars, and flights for a wedding no longer taking place. That's on top of the fact that these people have already rearranged their schedules and taken time off work for your special day, for which outfits were purchased, plans were made, and—in the case of two of my family members— cosmetic surgery had been done.
The next ripple: everything left behind. The nonrefundable, nonreturnable wedding gown altered to fit only my body. The myriad registry gifts that require awkward mea culpa notes in place of thank-you cards. I'm sorry about the inconvenience this has caused you and your family. Thank you for the Cuisinart toaster. Plus the other, more personal items like the Christian Louboutin stilettos my mom painstakingly bedazzled for months, sitting hunched at her kitchen table using tweezers to glue on the micro gems, so she could surprise me with a one-of-a-kind pair of wedding shoes. Like the hand-painted red-and-yellow ceramic clock from Italy's Abruzzo region, gifted by my dad and stepmom so that it could hang in our future home. Like the family heirlooms, such as my great-grandmother's ring—a dazzling ruby set in a yellow-gold band—so I'd have "something old" to wear when I said my vows.
Then comes another ripple: the gossip and speculation. |
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