The COVID Bride: Lessons in Wedding Planning from the Girl Who’s Seen It All

By Sara La Chapelle

How does a Southern Belle plan the perfect wedding in the midst of COVID? By conquering one catastrophe after the next. The COVID Bride is the hilarious, straight-talking wedding guide that could put a '90s rom-com to shame.

Determined not to cancel her special day, Sara La Chapelle threw her fancy wedding checklists out the window and hit the ground running. Laugh along with her as you learn how to plan the wedding of your dreams—no matter what it takes—all while maintaining the poise and grace of a true Southerner.

Loaded with first-hand advice you won't get anywhere else, The COVID Bride is the ideal resource for brides in the post-pandemic wedding boom. So pour a glass of wine and hang on tight as Sara grits her teeth and smiles her way through the wild bridal ride you won't want to miss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781544526959

Book preview

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THE COVID BRIDE

THE

COVID

BRIDE

Lessons in Wedding Planning from the Girl Who’s Seen It All

SARA LA CHAPELLE

Copyright © 2022 Sara La Chapelle

The COVID Bride: Lessons in Wedding Planning from the Girl Who’s Seen It All

All rights reserved.

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-5445-2694-2

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5445-2693-5

eBook ISBN: 978-1-5445-2695-9

For my wonderful husband. Thank you for still wanting to marry me.

Contents

THE INTRODUCTION

THE BRIDE

THE GROOM

THE RING

THE PROPOSAL

THE FIRST WEDDING PLANNER

THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY

THE BRIDESMAID PROPOSAL

THE GUEST LIST

THE VENUE

THE DRESS

THE SEARCH FOR A CHURCH

THE INVITATIONS

THE REHEARSAL VENUE

THE FIRST DANCE

THE CATHOLIC PREP

THE HONEYMOON PLANS

THE STATIONERY ITEMS

THE WELCOME GIFT

THE PARTY FAVOR

THE BACHELORETTE PARTY

THE NEW WEDDING PLANNER

THE BRIDAL SHOWER

THE PLAN B

THE FIRST FITTING

THE FIRST DANCE DRESS

THE NEW VENUE

THE GRACE CHRISTIAN COUNSELING

THE RSVPS

THE CATHOLIC CEREMONY

THE BRIDAL PORTRAITS

THE FINAL FITTING

THE SECOND WEDDING GOWN

THE SEATING CHART

THE FINAL DETAILS

THE GRAND SEND-OFF

THE WEDDING SCHEDULE

THE DETAIL SHOOT

THE PASS OFF

THE I DO BBQ

THE REHEARSAL DINNER

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING

THE MORNING OF THE BIG DAY

THE HAIR AND MAKEUP APPOINTMENT

THE TIME TO GET DRESSED

THE FIRST LOOK

THE CEREMONY

THE RECEPTION

THE THINGS THAT WENT WRONG

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THE INTRODUCTION

I felt like I was cursed.

Nothing about my engagement year went according to plan. A global pandemic, unexpected loss, RSVP disasters, last-minute changes, and miscellaneous misadventures all conspired to keep me from marrying Peter. For over fourteen months, I meticulously planned for the wedding year of my dreams, only to find myself canceling and replanning events every step of the way.

You may have picked up this book because the title triggered some sort of an emotional response. Perhaps you were a COVID bride, or you know one. Maybe you just like a good wedding tale. Whatever the reason, this book is not just for those brides impacted by the pandemic, but for all newly engaged women planning a wedding and past brides who can find humor in relating to former struggles.

In a nutshell, this book serves as a guide chock full of advice I wish I had known before I was engaged. This book won’t help you choose between peonies or roses, but you can always call me for that. Wedding planning is stressful enough, and I refuse to bombard you with the basic tips and tricks. Instead, I am giving you only the golden nuggets of wedding wisdom and advice you can’t find on Google.

My goal is not to promote any particular vendors or retailers. In fact, although everything presented here is based on true events, I have modified the places and names to protect those involved.

Your mom, aunt, or grandma may be filled with well-intended wedding advice, but their outdated guidance can only get you so far. Sure, you can turn to your girlfriends for direction. But they most likely didn’t document and reflect on a year’s worth of the good, the bad, and the ugly and bind it together in a pretty book specifically for you. Although you could read every chapter in this book independently, I encourage you to follow the story to get more bang for your buck.

Global pandemic or not, planning your wedding will come with unique challenges. I hope my story will bring solace that you are not the only bride feeling the heavy burden of managing a wedding.

We were able to host the wedding of our dreams after hours of planning, hard work, and a little too much wine. I’ll help you minimize the mishaps, avoid the true catastrophes, recover from the misfortune, and maximize the opportunities surrounding wedding planning.

You deserve a fairytale wedding. We all deserve a happily ever after.

Hang on tight,

The COVID Bride

THE BRIDE

There are plenty of women out there who have never fantasized about being proposed to by their Prince Charming. There are also plenty of women who never devoted hours talking about their future wedding before having an eligible bachelor in sight. I was not one of those women.

Ever since I was an awkward, lanky teenager, I would daydream about my future proposal, bachelorette party, bridal shower, wedding day, and so on. It’s not my fault; from the time I was born, I was predestined to care about these traditions because of my upbringing. Thanks to my parents, I am an odd combination of sweet Southern belle mixed with tough Italian New Yorker. My dad is from L.A. (lower Alabama), and he instilled traditional values, Southern hospitality, and manners. My mother, on the other hand, is an overbearing Italian woman who began asking me in middle school when I was going to find a husband.

If my parents were to have their own catchphrases, my dad’s would be, Kill them with kindness! and my mother’s would be, You’re not getting any younger!

Once I graduated with my MBA, my father wondered when I would be taking over the family business, and my mother and grandmother wanted to know when I would be having children. Yes, the C-word. Children. Having lots of children is the ultimate goal in an Italian-Catholic family.

To claim that I am the last of my friends to get married is a lie, but I have surely kept my family and friends on their toes, finally finding my match after years of unsuccessful dating. Whenever I met someone new, I would ask my grandma and mom, How do you know when you have found the one?

They would always reply with, When you know, you know, and I hated that.

Ironically, they were correct.

THE GROOM

I first saw Peter on a private Facebook group the summer before starting graduate school. I was scrolling through the MBA Future Business Leaders page and saw Peter’s face. My heart sank a little bit, and my immediate reaction was, Oh no, this is going to be a problem for me. Just one glance at his outdated Facebook profile picture, and I knew it would be tough to avoid taking interest in this complete stranger.

I’d made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t let any man interfere with my goals. Moving to Washington, DC, for business school was my chance to start over, and falling in love again was totally off the table. Jumping into a relationship was the last thing I needed. I had a long list of ex-boyfriends, much like Taylor Swift, giving my hometown plenty of gossip material.

Is she ever going to settle down?

I thought she was dating someone else; who is she with now?

I heard he’s not even from the United States. Couldn’t she find someone from America?

The truth is, I have always presented myself as an independent person, yet I found myself in new relationships far too often. For once in my life, I was going to focus on myself.

Casual dating was the best I could do in my early twenties because I still didn’t know what kind of man I saw myself building a future with. I have never had a type, so choosing a partner was like going to an all-you-can-eat buffet but being told you can only choose one dish. How could I choose just one when I love all types of food? I needed to taste all of the dishes before deciding on one to eat for the rest of my life.

When I saw Peter in person for the first time on the first day of MBA orientation, I couldn’t shake the feeling of immediate attraction. I was overcome with emotions for someone I didn’t even know. Instead of avoiding him, as I told myself I would, I found myself trying to get his attention or find a seat near him. Three days of MBA orientation went by, and Peter hadn’t said a single word to me. Our only interaction was when Peter caught me randomly staring at him throughout the day. If he caught me looking at him once more, I would perish from embarrassment.

All of the rules I made about avoiding Peter went out the window after a week of admiring him from afar. Finally, I broke down and introduced myself, and asked for his number. Peter still hates that I technically made the first move. At least he went in for the first kiss a couple weeks later; I’ll give him that.

Anyway, I just knew from the moment I saw Peter that he was the one. I always tell Peter that I’d hate him if he wasn’t mine because I couldn’t handle seeing someone so compatible with me with someone else.

After two years of dating, Peter and I got engaged in the midst of a global pandemic, and so the story begins…

THE RING

My First Engagement Ring

I was engaged for the first time when I was just nineteen.

Chase caught my eye when I was only fourteen years old, and we grew up together. He was the first boy I ever loved and the first person I had a somewhat adult relationship with. He was my first sleepover. His family was the first family I ever loved like my own. We met in Palm Beach at a country club my family travels to every Christmas break.

I went to a carnival with two of my girlfriends one evening, and he was there. My fourteen-year-old-self fell head over heels for his shaggy brown hair and tiny Irish nose. I ran into Chase and his friends again the next night on the beach, a common hangout spot for spoiled teenagers to make out and drink their parents’ stolen vintage Dom Perignon. I was enamored by his bad boy attitude, and I was willing to do anything to get his attention. I asked for a Solo cup of champagne and pretended to drink with him.

I was a goody two-shoes back then, and my mother had taught me to pretend to drink so people didn’t think I was weird. Her best advice was to pour my drink into plants when no one was looking or take it into the bathroom and dump it down the sink. My mom’s advice always works, and it landed my girlfriends and me an invite to Chase’s house party the next night. Chase and his friends were handsome, older, and so much cooler than we were. Getting invited to his party was the highlight of our trip.

When we arrived at his house for the party, we quickly learned that he wasn’t just any member of the country club. He was country club royalty. Everyone knew Chase and his family. He had a charming older brother and a pretty younger sister. His parents were the type that allowed the kids to have as many friends over as they wanted and never acknowledged underage drinking. His family threw legendary parties and had multi-million-dollar houses, from a ranch in Montana to a Versace mansion in Italy. They owned a private island in the Bahamas and had yachts, private planes, and personal shoppers. It was unlike anything I had ever encountered.

As much as his glamorous lifestyle appealed to me, I adored Chase for who he was. I took an immediate liking to him before I knew anything about his generational wealth or bottomless trust fund. We dated long-distance throughout high school and well into college. I went to the University of Georgia; he went to the University of Alabama as a legacy of his great-grandfather, who was a founding member. The distance was brutal, but we made the five-hour drive to see each other as often as possible.

During the summer before my junior year of college, one of my best friends was in a tragic hot-air balloon accident while vacationing in Switzerland. Something went wrong with the equipment, and the intoxicated balloon operator couldn’t fix it before she and her family fell out of the air. Her father passed away, and my friend, her sister, and her mother were in critical condition for months.

The news made me question the purpose of life, and I couldn’t wrap my head around how God could hurt such an incredible family. When Chase heard the news, he immediately drove up to Athens, Georgia, to see me. We drank our blues away (something we did far too often together), and I told him how heartbroken I was.

We aren’t guaranteed time on this Earth. We never know when it’s going to be our last day, I sobbed.

Overcome with sadness and intoxication, Chase did the one thing you should never do when you’re drunk—propose! He got down on one knee, removed my everyday David Yurman ring from my middle finger, placed it on my wedding finger, and begged, Will you marry me? I can’t imagine life ending without you officially being mine.

We held each other and cried happy tears and sad tears until we finally passed out on my bed, still wearing our jeans. When we woke up in the bright morning sun, neither of us were ready to ask if the other remembered what we’d agreed to the night before. With the level of headache I was experiencing, I knew we could shake it off like we had no recollection of the night before.

By noon, I made it downstairs to brew some coffee. As I was pouring Chase a cup, he whispered, Sara, you know I still want to marry you, right?

We were as happy as immature young adults could be. That day, Chase called his mother with the big news. Sara and I are engaged! He shouted into his beat-up cell phone.

I couldn’t be happier! What kind of ring does she want? Cartier? Harry Winston? His mother was over the moon with joy.

A complete jewelry amateur, I responded with, I’d be happy with anything!

I have the perfect ring for you. Why don’t I give Sara the family stone? she offered.

I figured the family stone would be a modest one-carat diamond on a vintage thick metal band from the early 1900s. Since the family was one of the first to settle in America, they had unique heirlooms. Chase procured the family stone and officially proposed to me at my grandparents’ house a week later. When I saw the family stone his mother was talking about, I was speechless. The ring had a four-carat oval diamond center stone between one-carat triangular baguettes on either side. It was bigger than any other ring I had seen before, but at the time, I still couldn’t comprehend how valuable and rare it was.

Six months into the engagement, Chase and I decided it was best to go our separate ways. I called my mom to break the news. Mom, do you think you can cancel everything? I don’t think I can.

I’m not canceling everything! my mom snapped, hoping we would change our minds. You call everyone.

Forced to clean up the mess I made, I fired my wedding planner and recycled the invitations. On reflection, I can see how God was preparing me for planning a wedding during a global pandemic, because this story sounds like déjà vu.

My parents lost a couple thousand dollars on deposits, but I lost my will to be seen in public. My engagement had been a huge deal—it was the first amongst my friends and the talk of the town. My sorority announced my engagement in front of two hundred and eighty sisters during a chapter meeting. It was announced in newspapers in Alabama, Georgia, and Florida. Everywhere I went, people I didn’t even know congratulated me on my engagement.

Even though Chase was raised as a millionaire socialite, heir to the family fortune, with the world at his fingertips, he didn’t want to be a part of that world. He was happiest when he was camping in the woods, free of technology and the hustle of everyday modern life. He pictured his life in Colorado, filled with outdoorsy activities, two unruly hunting dogs, and a few weathered flannel shirts.

I envisioned myself in a big house in the suburbs, PTA president, and a closet full of designer shoes. He needed a wife who was granola and easygoing, and I needed a husband who would leave for work wearing a tailored suit.

We officially ended our engagement one weekend at my college townhouse in Athens. As painful as it was to part after our seven-year love saga, the feeling was mutual. We wanted the best for each other.

I wiggled that spectacular engagement ring off my finger and mumbled, You’ll always be my first everything. I will always have love for you in my heart. I am so sorry. I did my best to not blink or tears would begin rolling down my face, making it even harder for him to leave. I stood in the kitchen and watched Chase’s truck disappear down the road before I let myself cry. I didn’t hear from him for an entire year, and I haven’t seen him since that cold winter afternoon. His family no longer vacations in Palm Beach, so the likelihood of seeing each other again is slim.

That is the story of the first engagement ring I was given. That flawless four-carat center stone ruined my expectations of what an engagement ring should look like. Present-day me has spent hours researching fine estate accessories, and I now have a deep appreciation for jewelry, particularly diamonds.

My Second Engagement Ring

Before I ever met Peter, I thought I knew what kind of engagement ring I wanted. It would be a two- or three-carat oval center stone, VVS1 (very, very slightly included), color F or above, and an excellent cut, set in a diamond band with a seamless halo.

The second year of my MBA program, and six years after my first engagement, Peter and I started talking more seriously about a future together. Eventually, we came to the decision that we were ready to start looking for an engagement ring.

We made appointments with the finest jewelers in Washington, DC. It would cost $40,000–$50,000 to deliver the ring I wanted, and this was outside of our budget. One weekend, we took the train up to New York City and tried on engagement rings at Tiffany’s and Co, Cartier, Harry Winston, and BVLGARI. The entry price was closer to $100,000 for the same two-carat oval stone set in a halo.

As two graduate students with no income, finding a ring that fit my expectations and made Peter proud was clearly going to be a challenge.

The more we shopped around, the more we realized that we needed to get creative. Years ago, I established an LLC in Georgia for an e-commerce site; I figured I could use those connections to get me in the door with diamond wholesalers. I couldn’t believe I didn’t think of it before! If Peter and I were able to shop for a wholesale diamond, we would save a percentage of the overall commission given to the middleman or jewelry store.

We flew to Atlanta in January of 2020 to look at stones at Atlanta’s Mart. For non-Georgians, Atlanta’s Mart is a massive business-to-business outlet for retail stores and boutiques to purchase items dirt cheap. In our minds, this was the solution.

Peter and I pounded the pavement of Atlanta’s diamond district for two days straight, hustling and haggling with over twenty diamond wholesalers, only to find out that the stones we wanted weren’t even GIA certified and most definitely a scam.

Shopping for a diamond was an emotional process, and trying to bargain for it only made me feel like we were placing a monetary value on my commitment to Peter. After two six-hour days of haggling at Atlanta’s Mart, we felt slimy and exhausted. Before calling it quits, I called a jeweler in Atlanta to ask for an appointment.

We snagged the last available Sunday appointment before returning to DC.

Peter and I wore our best winter suits and set out to Manoli Fine Jewelry in Buckhead. The prices seemed reasonable, and the sales consultant was transparent about the price of their stones.

We were able to find a three-carat stone for $30,000. In DC, a comparable stone would have been priced around $50,000.

Peter and I agreed that this stone was a steal, and we would work with Manoli Fine Jewelry to purchase it. Following our appointment, we went to Cafe Collet, one of my favorite French bistros in the city, for a champagne toast to celebrate our big decision.

That evening, Peter called his parents to ask for permission to sell off a small portion of his stocks to pay for the ring. Peter’s parents had set aside money for the children to use as they saw fit. Peter’s sister Emily used a portion of her money for a down payment on a three-bedroom home in Los Angeles. His brother Daniel did the same thing, using a portion of the funds for a down payment on a townhouse in DC. Peter didn’t see how asking for a portion of the money to use for an engagement ring would be any different. Just like his siblings, he was investing in his future.

Upon hearing Peter’s request, his parents immediately shut down and refused to talk about it. Peter was upset that his parents couldn’t understand the value of purchasing an engagement ring. After hunting high and low to find a fairly priced diamond ring, our engagement plans came to a screeching halt. We didn’t know how to proceed.

Peter’s parents didn’t call him back for three days. Those three days felt like an eternity, and neither of us could catch a solid night’s sleep.

I took their reaction as a personal rejection of our future engagement. I thought I was an excellent choice for a partner. I came from a good family and had a job lined up following graduation. My parents told us they would help us out by paying our rent for the first year. My dad was excited about our engagement and ensured our budget would cover