of them. Venue, catering, flowers, music, photography—everything.”
After ending the call with the thoroughly flustered wedding planner, I moved systematically through my list.
The caterer. The florist. The string quartet. The photographer.
With each call, I calmly identified myself as the contracting party, referenced the relevant cancellation clause, and authorized whatever payments were necessary to compensate for the last-minute change.
By 9:30 a.m., I had dismantled every aspect of the seventy-five-thousand-dollar wedding I’d spent two years saving for.
My retirement account was significantly lighter. But a strange sense
