Getting to the guts of the guest list

There they were. In the midst of the Wisconsin heat (that definitely rivaled Alabama's this week), leaning against the apartment door, begging to be opened.

My heart skipped a beat. The Jaws theme began playing in my head. And my right hand started to cramp.

Our Save the Dates had arrived.  

82 of them to be exact. 82 for the guests that had made it through the first round cuts, and the second round cuts, and the third round cuts. They were going to the finals. And they were guaranteed first prize. 

Since becoming a bride-to-be, I've taken up running. Started weight lifting. Cut back on the soda and started to drown myself in at least eight glasses of water a day. I adhere to a strict sleep schedule and attempt to find joy in washing the dishes and other housewifely duties.

I even think twice before I pop open a bottle of wine for "just a sip."

But nothing in this pre-wedding conditioning routine has come anywhere close (not even the running... yuck!) to slicing and dicing the guest list.

In my own little perfect world, I had 300 guests alone on my list. That was before I remembered my groom had friends and family too. And certainly before I realized each guest came with a rather steep price tag. (And that our reception hall can only fit 200). 

So began the slicing. And the dicing. College friends. Work colleagues. Hometown buds that remember the mullet but missed the whole time period of gaining the freshman 15 to losing the cancer 15. Distant family members that probably wouldn't even recognize me if I ran into them in the mall. 

And Jesuits. Off went the Jesuits. They wouldn't have even brought dates. 

If I wasn't spending a lot of time in purgatory before, I sure am now.