Aerobics Class Gossip

By Allison Kaplan

My mother's aerobics class is talking about me.

The ladies warned my mom during stretches that a bride closer to 30 than 20 must have all sorts of ideas about the wedding she wants.

And so Mom, acting - momentarily - as though she was the product of yoga sessions rather than a high energy hustle, sat back and calmly waited for my wedding agenda.

My preferences go something like this: I love tulips and Jelly Bellies and chocolate covered strawberries. White chocolate.

I detest bridesmaid dresses and dyed-to-match shoes. I want a band that can play Earth, Wind and Fire tunes, with feeling. Anything else?

I am a grown woman with many ideas, I'll have the 8 a.m. community center aerobics class know. But very few of those ideas seem to relate to the confusing and cumbersome ritual of planning a wedding.

Engagement is a commitment, not a transformation. I still can't cook, I'm not visualizing attractive centerpieces, I have no idea if hors d'oeuvres should be passed or served on a buffet. Hors d'oeuvres might never have entered my mind, if not for my mother.

Dear Mom. Thank goodness, she has a few ideas.

Mom spun into overdrive, reserving the synagogue, calling the rabbi. She made appointments with two caterers, two florists, two photographers (comparison shopping is the only way to know for sure). She booked the only band in my hometown of Minneapolis that performs a convincing Earth, Wind and Fire.

That was week one.

Week two, she felt I should move back home. It would be so much more fun to do all of this planning together.

Tempting, but chicken vs. salmon wouldn't interest me in person, either.

While I blame Mom for my lack of interest in catered affairs - there was a lot of macaroni and cheese growing up in my house - the guilt of not participating in the wedding plans, when my parents are kind enough to do the work and foot the bill, was overwhelming.

So I went home. For a weekend.

I leafed through Martha Stewart's spring wedding issue on the flight, attempting to inspire the proper mood.

The first prospective photographer needed to get to know me. Fine. Every time I try to apply eyeliner, I wind up with a squiggly line above my eyebrow. Does that give you a snapshot of where I'm at with being a bride?

That said, we moved on to an outline of the big day. She asked if we'd want a picture of the groom with his father. Well, yeah, that seems like a good plan.

What about groom with mother? Yesss. Groom with mother and father? Bride and groom with mother and father?

You get the idea. According to her calculations, we would need to start the photo session two weeks before the ceremony to capture every possible combination.

The florist didn't seem overly impressed with my wedding theme of: tulips. She thought we'd add sweet pea and ranunculus and leafy things which all sounded nice, if only I knew what any of those species look like.

The florist also conducted an interview. How full do we want the bouquets? Will the groom's boutonniere differ from his groomsmen's? Will there be plant life on the bimah? Along the huppa poles? In the bathrooms?

Two hours later, I no longer cared about the tulips.

At the second florist, we worked getting-to-know-you down to 45 minutes. But then he had to ask what my bridesmaid dresses look like.

Who picks out bridesmaid dresses a year in advance?

Well, apparently my entire "concept" hinges on the dresses. Add that to the to-do list.

On to photographer two, who said formal pictures will take under two hours. Sold to the low bidder! But she added a new twist: an engagement package. This is a photo session with the bride and groom in jeans rather than formal attire, intended to document this chaotic - I mean special time in our lives.

A photo shoot. How appropriate. A wedding really is like playing movie star, which would aptly make my mother the director. Now we just need the producer to send us to a spa for relaxation therapy. Daddy?

Send comments to Allison at Singlstyle@aol.com