Yesterday the cutest little save-the-date postcard showed up in my mailbox. My pals Steph and Erik are getting married in Minnesota in June, and Steph is tackling loads of wedding planning tasks in addition to finishing grad school, prepping for life as a foreign service officer and generally acting as a super human. You go girl. 

This postcard directs people to Steph and Erik’s wedding website, on which I make an appearance.

As a bridesmaid, I’ve known the couple’s upcoming wedding day for a while now, but the date that really stuck in my head was November 1: the deadline for ordering my bridesmaid dress FROM GEORGIA.

I made the deadline, but only by visiting three bridal shops, getting measured three times by three different people with three different results, and calling my mom to whine about the curse of the voluptuous Samuelson hips. I was not pleased when after the first round of measurements, I came home to order my dress online and found out that my bust and waist proportions fit nicely into my normal size category and my hip measurements bumped me up by four sizes.

Four. Vier. Quatre. Cuatro. 

And to keep the Spanish going, that was NO BUENO.

Luckily, it all worked out. I ordered what I truly think will be the right size. Also, I’m mentally prepared to fast for the month of May if need be.

Now, here’s insider scoop:

When Steph’s website was in its early stages of development she used this image for my profile. It perfectly depicts the seriousness of our youth and was taken when we were on our “big girl trip” to Duluth after high school graduation but before the first (scary) college days. We look absolutely cartoonish, and I love it.

In my bridesmaid bio, among other things, Steph wrote:

Laura’s taught Steph some of the finer points of MN farm-living, humoring her every spring in their annual search for new kittens and explaining to Steph that the smell of manure in the air is not ’gross.’

I’d like to qualify this statement by saying that I’m not some kind of super freak who thinks poo in the air smells good. Rather, I would tell her to breathe through her mouth and insist that matters could be worse: hogs and turkeys. Enough said.

Finally, I’m wondering, what’s the standard procedure for calling shotgun on groomsmen? I’d like dibs on the tallest one. All the bridesmaids are about the same height, except for Ms. Ruud who is very Ruud-like and an example of good things comin’ in small packages. If all the bridesmaids are the same height, but I will undoubtedly wear the highest heals, that makes perfect sense, right?

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• Wedding
• bridesmaid
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• friends