A friend of mine (who is an aspiring writer) shared the story of her wedding with me. I was so captivated that I asked her if I could share it here. Luckily she said yes.
Like any bride, I already had pictures of rings and wedding dresses cut out of hundreds of wedding magazines long before the man of my dreams ever made an appearance in my life. Girls tend to be raised with the perfect wedding expectation, and I was no exception. By the time the beautiful diamond engagement band was slipped onto my finger in front of a crowd of strangers at the museum where we first met, I was more than ready to proceed with the wedding plans. Everything would be planned down to the last detail with no room for mistakes, or so I thought.
With my mother and closest friends in tow, the wedding dress shopping commenced. No matter that the date hadn’t been set or a venue finalized, my long dreamed of princess dress was my first priority. Armed with a scrapbook full of years of research I proceeded to test the patience of dress shop workers across town. My moment as the center of attention had finally arrived and I refused to accept defeat in any of my planning endeavors.
Never mind that my attitude could have used some serious adjustment, and even my closest friends started making excuses to avoid accompanying me on my bridal errands, I persevered. Once the date was set, my life was constantly linked to the impending magical date I had marked on my calendar with a giant heart. Maybe I deserved what happened in the end, after all, I had become quite the rude and difficult bride to be.
I worked day and night to make a day deserving of all girlhood dreams. I argued my way into getting what I wanted when I wanted and used ruthless methods to secure the banquet hall I coveted for my reception out from under another bride. I justified it somehow by telling myself it couldn’t possibly be as important to her as it was to me. I was the only one with wedding day bliss at stake in my mind.
My mother maintained her usual calm during what she hoped was a temporary wedding induced insanity, while my father just kept writing checks in an attempt to stay as far away from the madness as possible. My dear fiancé seemed oblivious to the crazy that had taken over, partly because I kept him from him. On some level I knew what I had become was less than attractive
After the dress was chosen, the bridesmaids picked and all the cakes sampled, I finally allowed my former self to emerge just enough to give hope to family and friends that I was not lost forever. This proved to be, in hindsight, the calm before the storm.
The day finally came when I was taken to a secret room and hidden from the groom to be in a cloud of perfume and hairspray. Honestly, even a snag in my stockings would have set me off that day, but I somehow maintained a proper outlook, at first. I sat still while attended to by hair and makeup professionals and tried not to move and inch while my dress was carefully laced up the back. By the time the music announced my entrance, my father suddenly appeared after months of absence to walk me proudly down the aisle. This part was perfect, and I have the video to prove it.
Well, perfect, stopped here. At least my version of perfect as dictated at the time. The service ended, as I looked up through millions of rice grains to see my way to the limousine, a blank space lurked ahead. I frantically looked around, seething as I imagined the driver stupidly lingering at the wrong entrance.
Make sure to check back in for part two! it only gets better.