Last week, in my inaugural Groom Guy blog, I waxed poetic about a recent daytime wedding I attended in which the bride and groom provided sun hats for all the guests. My non-sunburned scalp is still smiling about that, but this week I wanted to go back in time to my own wedding planning. Specifically, I wanted to tell the tale of the old man and the stamps.
Our wedding planner (hereafter: the WP) was unbelievably wonderful, so much so that I will spend many future blogs trying to convince you that you should hire a planner, even if your wedding is already over. There was no problem the WP couldn’t solve. In fact, I’ve spent many days since my wedding wishing the WP would show up and tell me where I could get my vacuum repaired or what restaurants would be appropriate for dinner when my aunt is in town.
But the moment when the WP’s knowledge really shined was when my wife decided that it would be really cool to have vintage stamps on our wedding invitations. I, of course, thought that normal stamps would likely get the job done, since I had mailed in an American Express bill earlier that week, and everything had gone swimmingly. But before I could say anything, the WP announced that she knew a vintage stamp guy. And within minutes of that revelation, my wife and I were in the car, heading to a neighborhood neither of us had ever heard of before.
I spent most of the ride preparing myself for a dingy old shop, run by some guy in his seventies who was hard of hearing. When we got to the store, though, I realized I was wrong. The shop was even kookier and the proprietor even older than I imagined.
But what I didn’t anticipate was how awesome this guy would be. He knew every stamp released by the U.S. Post office in the last fifty years. Heck, he had them all in the shop. And his hearing was better than a wolf’s. At one point he went to the bathroom and while he was in there, I sneezed. The minute he came out, he told me, “Gesundheit.”
I have no idea how this guy’s shop stays in business, mind you. We made a rather large purchase of vintage stamps that day, and I think the bill was like a hundred dollars. In Los Angeles, that’s about enough to cover the rent for maybe three hours. But perhaps the old man owns the building. He may have even built the building. But I hope his shop never closes. Hopefully, there’s an heir somewhere in the family who’s being groomed to recite all the fifteen cent stamps released in 1979.
At dinner a few days ago, I told my wife that I wanted to write about the old man and the stamps. She blushed and almost apologized for dragging me on such a ridiculous errand. I told her that it was one of my fondest memories of the planning because it was so unexpected. I knew I’d get to taste cake, try on a tux, and tell my parents they were inviting too many people. But I never thought I’d get to meet the Dali Lama of stamp collecting.
I told my wife she should never apologize again...largely because that old man’s hearing was so good, he was likely listening to every word she was saying.
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