Venue. It’s a weird word. Venyooooo. Venue. Venue is a word I now say several times a day. Several dozen times, even, if the day is today, when Mike and I headed up north to tour some venyoos. The Grand Venue Tour of 2014. We saw a women’s club, a beer garden, a community center, a ranch and a winery. We shook hands, asked basic questions, and then got back into the car and fretted. The cheap venue – what a great deal! But then how much will it cost to get tables and chairs and decorate it so it looks less like a place where old people play bingo on Wednesdays? The expensive venue, so stunning – but will we look back on ourselves in twenty years and mark our wedding as the kickoff event in our ascent to the mindless bourgeoisie?
Heavy questions, I tell you. Both angst-inducing for their own sake, and also angst-inducing for being angst-inducing. It’s circular. A snake of anxiety eating its own tail.
On the bright side, it was pretty.
And I took photos of persimmons.
Don’t worry, guys, I’ll lighten up any day now. I promise.
But that day will probably have to include martinis.