I really wanted to be an aloof, unflappable bride. A Claire Huxtable bride. Be unquestionably in control despite the chaos, have poise and a rapier wit, look flawless (Obviously they just put the entire Cosby Show on Netflix Instant..). Have friends glimpse stacks of invitations on my dinner table and remember, oh yeah, she’s planning a wedding, I completely forgot because she is such a cool ass cucumber. She is just chilling in the crisper drawer being refrigerated as hell.
But no, I’m a dyed-in-the-wool spaz and it’s pretty laughable that I’d think this whole engagement would play out in ten months without a single melodramatic editorial from me at a party after too many drinks. I am happy about the way we’re doing things but, you know, I’m worried. I’m afraid that the ceremony will be too hippy-dippy for my family and too traditional for my friends. I’m afraid my worrywart mom won’t enjoy herself. I’m afraid that my friends, who (the saints!) endlessly volunteer their help, will resent me after a long weekend lost to driving shit around, setting shit up, and telling me to have fun. That minimal “decorations” will seem like an oversight instead of unfussy. That my arms will look fat.
I keep thinking of that line from The Life Aquatic, but with weddings. “I hate brides, I never wanted to be one”.