The whole thing almost came undone today. We had a legitimate Code Orange on the "Fuck It, Let's Just Elope" meter. Truth be told, we're not ready to downgrade to Yellow quite yet, but at least we're not teetering on the border of the Red Zone.
When we got engaged, one of our first thoughts was to just abscond to Vegas with our parents and one or two closest friends each, and come back a married couple. Maybe, or maybe not, have a party sometime afterwards. And we came pretty close to just getting married in a doughnut shop in Portland, just the two of us. But those impulses passed without our acting on them. And then we saw the Chelsea, and said, "WANT!" So here we are, planning a wedding.
At least for the time being. But when we threw down our deposit on the venue—almost, but not quite, as impulsively as those urges to elope that we'd let pass before—we didn't know that, 10 months out, the photographers we wanted to use would all be booked. We didn't know the band we wanted to use would be on vacation. And we didn't—and still don't—know what other unpleasant surprises might creep up. So while we're off the elopement ledge for the time being, I wouldn't recommend booking any non-refundable travel or lodging arrangements quite yet.
Image Credit: AJC1
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