Recently, my fantasies have shifted from dirty sexy things I don't feel comfortable talking about in polite company to far more crass daydreams. These are lottery winner hopes, mink stole and diamond musings and fantasies of swimming, Scrooge McDuck-style, in a silo of gold coins.
But my moneymoneymoney daydreams aren't really about wanting stuff. I'm not a terribly acquisitive person by my nature. If I were to come into a windfall, I'd likely tuck it away in my savings account, pulling out just enough for an exotic adventure, possibly through Southeast Asia. But these days, I can't stop thinking about money, because I really wish I could buy time. I want helper people to respond to my wedding whims and just make them happen. I don't want to think about all the darn work that goes into making this wedding affordable anymore. I want to simply throw piles of money at my wedding problems to make them go away. I want someone else to take care of the headaches at 9pm, after a long day of work.
I'm at the point where my fantasies are of me, lounging around in my pool of gold, and tossing two thousand dollars at a florist. Poof! No need to hike back to Ikea (yet again) for table supplies, or to go to the flower mart, or to scour design blogs because I have no clear aesthetic idea about what we want. Or poof! I could call a rental company and take their overpriced recommendations without nitpicking, even if it's in my nature to nitpick, because I'd have the money to just deal with the price and move on to more important things. Or poof! I could call travel agent and have her arrange all our flights and intercity travel in Guatemala, leaving me to examine volcano hiking and massage adventures instead of the giant logistical bore or itinerary making.
I'm thiiiiiiiis close to having the wedding I want. It's within my reach. It's entirely within my budgetary means. But it's simply not within reach of my meager time resources. And so now, well after I thought I'd made peace with our budget, I'm cavorting in daydreams with bags full of money, showering my riches upon letterpress designers and $400 veils and personal trainers who will whip me into three-times-a-week shape before the wedding (apparently I get a bit spendthrifty with my imaginary money). In my dreams, I'm sitting in my apartment, fanned by people with palm fronds as I sip on a margarita instead of arguing over whether to go with the cheaper hotel option in Antigua (even though the difference is a whopping $15 a night.)
So maybe, just maybe, I no longer give a hoot about my budget and I give a lot more hoots about my sanity. I'm getting ready to dig a bit deeper and find some moneybags to cavort with, because I don't know how much more of this nitpicking I can take. And I don't like the idea of spending any more money on this darn wedding, but I despise the idea of spending much more time on all the mind-numbingly boring parts.
WIC - 1, Becca -732*
*Clearly, I am still in the overall lead with my department store dress and taco truck wedding. However, I will concede that the WIC is a deviously persistent opponent that is clearly in cahoots with my boss and our month of 9pm worknights. The WIC is also obviously partnered with Santa and his absurd December 25 deadline for gift shopping despite mandatory attendance at 15 holiday parties before then.