Editor Unveiled: The Tiny Scissor Fiasco

The Calm Before the Bags

As the hours ticked down before my wedding, I became increasingly convinced that perfection was non-negotiable. Every detail mattered — down to the most ridiculous things.

The welcome bags were my final project, and they were already a masterpiece: candy cubes with his-and-hers labels aligned within a millimeter, live orchids that had survived a multi-hour car ride in flawless condition, monogrammed candles, and custom candy bars. All that was left was the finishing flourish — tissue paper, of course.

The Paper Shortage

Somewhere between the orchids and the candy bars, I realized the unthinkable: I was short one sheet of tissue. Me — the bride who ordered backups for the backups.

Here’s where a rational person would’ve grabbed the nearly identical floral tissue I’d used for the hotel guest gift bags. But no. In my wedding-brain logic, clearly everyone would notice the difference between cream tissue with floral line drawings versus cream tissue with slightly different floral line drawings.

And then the inner monologue began:

• “Wow, can you believe the bride gave me the ‘wrong’ floral print tissue? Clearly she doesn’t respect me.”

• “I mean, if the tissue paper doesn’t match, what else went wrong in this wedding?”

• “Honestly, I came here for perfection, and this bag is screaming negligence.”

By the time I’d finished spinning out my imaginary critics, it was obvious: deviating was unthinkable. So I decided I’d cut one sheet in half and make it work.

The Search for Scissors

Fueled by sugar-free Red Bull, I began tearing apart the hotel room like a woman possessed, determined to find my scissors. I had packed three pairs. All gone. Vanished into the bridal abyss.

Meanwhile, my fiancé was stretched out on the bed, blissfully scrolling Instagram — completely unaware that I was in the middle of what felt like a life-or-death crisis. To this day, I doubt he even knows I went through this hell.

Then I remembered the emergency sewing kit I’d thrown in my bag. Because naturally, I had packed one in case I needed to hem my own dress on the morning of the wedding. Inside was a pair of scissors, technically — the kind designed to snip a single loose thread, not save an entire wedding.

Small embroidery scissors with studio lighting

The Cutting Ritual

But when you’re on a mission, practicality doesn’t matter. I knelt on the hotel floor, painstakingly slicing centimeter by centimeter, determined to create two flawless half-sheets. Ten minutes later, I had them. Perfectly halved, artfully fluffed, and no one would ever know the difference.

The Lesson in the Madness

Here’s what I know now: my guests were never going to judge me by the tissue paper. They weren’t going to gasp, roll their eyes, or whisper critiques about cream florals behind my back. They were there to celebrate, not evaluate.

But wedding week rewires your brain. It convinces you that the tiniest details are everything, when in reality the only thing anyone cares about is watching you marry the person you love.

So yes, pack extra scissors. But also remember: you don’t need to earn your guests’ approval with tissue paper or orchids or perfectly labeled candy cubes. They’re there for you. And the absurd details you lose your mind over? Those become the stories worth telling.

With Love and Style,

–M