I, Loveaudrey, hereby swear never to take a wedding invitation for granted ever again.

Should one arrive on our doormat, I will skip with glee to retrieve it. I will stroke the fine envelope and admire the penmanship employed to scribe our address.

I’ll savour every second of the opening, slowly peeling back the seal of the envelope, inhaling the papery goodness within as I do.

I’ll imagine the fair bride {because, let’s face it, it’s usually the bride} sat hunched over her precious mountain of invitations, stuffing envelopes and adhering stamp after stamp after stamp.

I’ll recognise her dedication to the task, continuing on even when her tongue was left numb by the repeated licking of the glue used to seal her beloved bridal paper goods.

As I read what’s printed on the card, I’ll relish every detail. I’ll admire the font, the choice of colour and the weight of the paper.

And if the invitation appears to possess even the slightest hint of a DIY detail, if I detect a smudge of glue, or crisp edges that could only have been fashioned by a bride-to-be wielding a craft knife, or if there is ribbon or twine that has been tied lovingly by hand, I swear I will double my efforts and linger even longer to appreciate the magnificence of such efforts.

As my eyes scan the text, I’ll acknowledge the thought that will have no doubt been put into selecting the words on the page, the sentences that express the very essence of the object. Someone is getting married and they want us to share that moment with them.

After all this, I will respond swiftly with my R.S.V.P. I will include a personal message expressing our gratitude and excitement. I’ll tell the bride-to-be and her groom that their invitations are exquisite {whether they be to my taste or not}.

Because invitations take hours.

There is blood, sweat, and tears.

There are spelling mistakes, paper cuts and stamps.

Lots of stamps.

And because, if the sender is anything like me, she’ll have hesitated in front of the wide mouth of the post box, the stack of invitations clasped tightly in her hand, and felt a mixture of nerves and excitement and anticipation as she finally let them fall.

‘This is it,’ she thinks, ‘it’s really happening’.

Loveaudrey xxx

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