OUR postman has taken to using a long poking device to get our mail through the letterbox.
He’s afraid of me, you see.
The minute I hear him coming up the path – and I have the ears of a bat – I fling the door open and grin widely at him, looking expectantly at the pile of post in his hand, excitedly rifling through the letters until I get to the one I’m after.
A wedding acceptance.
I have become single-minded in my pursuit of the wedding acceptance card. It is. All. I. Can. Think. About.
It is the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of at night and while I have explained this to our Postie, in great detail, he’s still freaked out.
He’s now refusing to come up the garden path at all and has taken to wearing earphones so he won’t hear me calling him.
Our letters are stuck to the end of the poking device and are thrust through the door quick as a flash, no human contact required and according to the restraining order, it’ll be like that for a long time to come.
Our invitations went out last week and I am still more glue than fingertip. We fancied up our cheap as chips VistaPrint invitations with double-sided satin ribbon, which sounds easy, but wasn’t.
The end result, though glue stained, was worth it however, as they looked very fancy dan indeed.
I had a brief moment of relief as they tumbled into the post box, delighted that job was over with. It was the last big job we had to do and having spent days tying 90 centimetres of ribbon into something approximating a bow, over and over, I was glad to see the back of all things invitation.
Until I woke up the next morning and thought ‘Oooh, I wonder has anyone RSVP’d?’
Suddenly invitations were right back on the agenda again and I was filled with an almost unbearable need to know, right then and there, who was coming to the wedding and who was not.
“Why won’t they RSVP?” I tapped out sharply in a text message to Yer Man at 11am.
“Because they haven’t got the invitation yet, they only went out 24 hours ago,” he soothed back.
“Nothing yet.” I rapped out at lunchtime. And again in the afternoon. And again before we went to bed. Even though he was right there on the sofa with me.
I felt it warranted a text. Sue me.
Since then I have been on a mission. A mission to get wedding RSVPs as soon as is humanly possible. Even if it means alienating my family and friends.
The RSVP date we gave our guests isn’t for another month and the wedding is another month after that. But still. I want to know now. Is that so hard to understand?
All of my family have been texted and warned to RSVP as soon as possible. I’ve put up snippy messages on Facebook, telling friends to take note of the RSVP date and not to piss me off. They think I’m joking. But I’m not. Yer Man isn’t allowed to enter the house of an evening until he tells me which of his colleagues have said they’re coming to the wedding.
I even have a spread sheet. I spend many hours in front of that spread sheet.
And now I’m writing this blog post.
If you received a wedding invitation from me, please, for my sanity and the personal safety of my postman, RSVP.