Bed, bath, and be(yawwwwn)d

 I was fooled. Hoodwinked. Deceived. Tricked. The movies deluded me. My imagination mislead me. How could an activity appear so awesome but yet be so mind-numbingly tedious; how could an event seem as if it would make you feel so powerful when in reality it renders you powerless? That is the very definition of registering. Besides things that are actually the worst (ie. cancer, terrorist, poverty, and getting sunscreen in your eyes), registering for a wedding is the epitome of the worst. 

In the deep realms of my mind, I pictured James and I dressed in all black, storming down the doors of Bed, Bath, and Beyond and tearing through that store, Mr. and Mrs. Smith style - James with the scanner gun and me drop kicking and karate chopping the crap out of things. "We'll take you, you Capthalon® nonstick muffin pan." Just two BA people registering for a wedding. In actuality, none of that happened even remotely. To start, registering took place during store hours when all the customers were still there. Apparently, this is a well-known fact that in my twenty-five years of life I was not privy to. Disappointment Strike One. Next, we were greeted by an employee whom for now on will be referred to as Woman Who Ruined My Fun, WWRMF for short. WWRMF was to lead us around the store. Disappointment Strike Two. Finally, WWRMF held onto that scanner gun as if it were the One Ring (Shout out LoTR fans) or the last Horcrux (shout out HP fans) that would inevitably lead to her doom if it were unclenched from her claws. Disappointment Strike Three. 

So ten minutes into our registering, the whole process was on Disappointment Strike Three. Therefore, the next three hours was spent with my trying to survive and make it out of the store alive. WWRMF started out with taunting us into registering for fine China for a set of eight - mocking me into believing that I would ever cook a meal that would warrant China that totals over $500. Wondering further into the depths of the kitchen department, we found ourselves asking her (She still wouldn't let us even have one little touch of that scanner.) to scan cutlery that costs more than the therapy I was going to need when this was finished. When we finally made it to the beyond section, and I was delirious from the shrill pain of giving my opinion on such commonplace items ("It's a flippin' pepper shaker. I am going to shake pepper out of it."), James had registered for taco bowls and a bacon press that leaves an imprint of a pig. I couldn't even muster up the energy to stop him. In fact, by the last hour I had pretty much had blacked out and really had no recollection of how we managed to escape the clutches of WWRMF. 

A few days later, when I was able to regroup and reenergize my soul, I had quite a chuckle glancing back at our registry. In the warmths of our own homes, we shifted through items we wanted and absurd items we had absolutely no need for in order to form the right registry for us. Yes, registering was beyond mundane, but we realized, as we were adding items to the registry, these items were meant for our new, joint life beyond the wedding. Pun and cheesy cliche 100% intended.