“Gift bags are important,” Brea said as I picked up the crate. “They’re the last impression a guest has of the wedding.”
When Brea walked into my apartment, Beowulf ran over to greet her and presented her with a slobbery toy.
“I think he likes you,” I remarked as Brea petted the puppy.
“Because he handed me a wet penis? Why yes, he must.”
“Wha—” I looked down. The dog had chewed the arms off of his stuffed platypus, and it did admittedly look a bit like a dildo.
“But at least he has something to personalize his space with,” Brea remarked.
I looked around. “This place has personality,” I said defensively.
“It looks like a prison cell.”
“That is a very expensive couch, I’ll have you know,” I told her.
“You need a feminine touch in here.”
“Well, I mean...” I said, encircling her waist. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”
“There are people coming soon,” she whimpered.
The door opened, and Beowulf barked. Brea and I pulled apart. She went to hastily set out the gift bags as Liz examined the goods on the table.
“You don’t want a chair?” I asked her.
“I’m supposed to be standing,” she said, lightly marching in place. “Also, I have to pee like every five minutes, so this may be a long meeting.”
“I have several options for gift bags,” Brea told Liz. She explained the picnic hamper option and then contrasted it with a tote and a box. She also went through a frankly gratuitous display of various customized jars of jams, honey, mini bottles of olive oil, little clear boxes with macarons, other boxes with crackers and nuts and other snacks. Plus there was something called a hangover kit, handmade bottle openers, little art prints, luggage tags, and a planter holding a tiny succulent.
“This is insane,” I muttered.
“I love all of them!” Liz gushed and started to cry. “I can’t choose just one.”
Worried, I handed her a tissue.
Liz blew her nose. “Sorry, I’m just really emotional. Wes is out of town. I want to surprise him with the gift boxes. Do you think he’d like these, Mark?”
“I’m sure he’ll like the snacks,” I said. “But do you want to put in some alcohol? Maybe something harder than champagne?”
“Yum, alcohol,” Liz said, tears forgotten. “All I want is a craft cocktail. French fries just aren’t the same without one. I do like all the favors. I think Mark is right and we should have more food, though,” Liz said.
“Hazel, the girl who does these prints, also runs the Gray Dove Bistro in Harrogate,” Brea said. “She’s going to bake donut Danishes that we can put in little bags to give out.”
“How many of these can I pick? I can’t decide!” Liz fretted as she touched the little party favors.
“Just have them all and give out bigger picnic hampers,” I said.
Brea glared at me. “There is a time frame. This wedding is happening in a few weeks!”
“So pay for rush delivery,” I said.
“Please!” Liz begged Brea.
Ivy shrugged. “I’ll see if they can rush deliver a bigger version of these hampers.”
Brea glared at me after the meeting was over. “For a man who claims he doesn’t like weddings, you sure are on board with making this one as complicated as possible.”
