Last night the beau and I tallied up all the wedding quotes and estimates and were subsequently rewarded with our first “oh shit” budget moment. We came up with the kind of number that makes you go all BLUH?! and want to immediately lie down on the floor. The beau wondered what we should do about this number. “Cry,” I suggested, but he didn’t seem to think this was a particularly practical or useful activity. So. Hard decisions time it is.

We had been toying around with doing an Asian fusion-style menu for our wedding, but now that’s just sort of like pffft. And I mean, is putting on a pre-wedding rehearsal barbecue for our friends and family really necessary? And why should I worry about buying an expensive dress when I can wear a burlap sack practically for free?

Ha ha, I am just kidding about that last part. Sort of. And you can rest assured that I am not considering selling a kidney to help pay for the wedding. That’s utter nonsense. I need that kidney for the wedding night Drinkfest very mature social gathering in which we will all wear turtlenecks and discuss Russian literature.

Fun times.

I kind of hate this part of the planning. I am good with my own budget. So good. I balance it. All. The. Time. I know exactly how much of my cash is flowing, and where it’s flowing to (I am not looking at you anymore, Modcloth). But this wedding is the first shared budget between the beau and I. And to be brutally honest, the beau is shoveling a lot more money into it than I am. My job pays less and most of my scrilla still goes to student loans. I feel guilty about entering into our marriage on uneven footing.

Some stubborn part of me is just plain embarrassed that our wedding contributions aren’t equal. Even though I know there is nothing truly egalitarian about relationships, ever. Somebody is always paying more or putting in more effort or investing more time. Yet I still feel like I don’t own our wedding budget, not like I own my own. In my mind, that money is mostly his.

No, this is our money, he tells me sincerely. Part of me, whenever I hear that, wants to make some juvenile declaration like well then I am taking “our” money and going to Brazil for a month, smell you later! But I don’t. This is a good first lesson in thinking beyond myself and my own means. A good exercise in adjusting to this new concept of joint finances.

HEEEEEE I said “joint.” Oh lawd, maybe I am not quite cut out for adulthood just yet.*

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* Further evidence to support this: I make “your mom” jokes all the time and none of my dishes match. I think this is a prerequisite for Adulthood 201?