Those close to me have heard me waxing on for a few months now about how my 10 a.m. wedding and luncheon reception would be retro-chic, because after all that’s exactly what JFK and Jackie did and I think if it’s good enough for our future-35th president and his uber-chic bride then it’s good enough for us. Internally though, I began fretting pretty much the minute the ink dried on the contract that a 10 a.m. wedding was just shy of ridiculous and my guests were likely going to want to kill me, no matter how many mongrammed flasks of mimosas and bloody marys I slipped them on the way into the church.
After a night tossing and turning, thanks in part to pondering this very dilemma, I realized that action must be taken. God apparently agreed, as the church happened to still have the 12 noon wedding spot open that day. But to be honest (and blasphemous) it wasn’t really God I was worried about. It was a higher authority: the catering director/wedding coordinator for the Hay-Adams. But the indefatigable Alison (who, bless her heart, still manages to sound happy when I call in breathing-into-a-paper-bag-panic mode) determined after a bit of click clicking on her computer and perusing of contracts that we could indeed move the whole event back two hours. I cannot stress enough that she and the hotel have been an absolute dream to work with. Seriously, if you ever find yourself in need of a location for a wedding, bar mitzvah or heads of the five families meeting, the Hay-Adams is your place. I think that you could probably call down to the front desk there after having a call boy expire in your bathtub and they would respond with, “It will be our pleasure to assist you, Miss. We’ll send a fixer right up. Will you be needing us to ring you an attorney? No? Just a tea cart then. Right away, Miss.”
So now my guests get to sleep in. Chances of some of them making it home to change out of whatever they wore to dance on tables at Tattoo Bar the night before* greatly increase. I may even be able to sneak in a sunrise trip to the driving range, before being hustled off by friends who are actually concerned about things like getting me to my wedding on time. All’s well that ends several hours later.
*This sentiment actually came directly from the person it’s directed at, but in the form of her refuting that she’d be doing anything of the sort. Apparently Papa Cheney likey the ruffled cocktail dresses.