Tomorrow is my wedding day.
Life is not... normal. My gel fingernails are painted pale blue, and this week my mother stayed up until one in the morning using a toothpick to poke ribbon through the holes of two dozen thank-you favors.
Today she will iron the skirt of the dress I have been fretting over for seven months. On her own wedding day, she and her maid of honor ironed her train, then watched while my grandfather, after she carefully wedged into the family station wagon, balled it up and tossed it in after her.
I doubt anyone noticed the wrinkled mass it became, as they were likely too busy wondering how we as a nation could produce the following fashion statement, modeled here by my father:
And in twenty years, I'm quite sure that viewings of pictures from my own wedding day will result in deep self-analysis. Why blue fingernails? Pewter waistcoats on the tuxes, why?
The reception will be unsurpassed in surreality, as College World collides with Cousin World, In-Law World, High School World, and People I Met At a Mystery Science Theater 3000 Convention World. Nuns who knew me from my birth will break bread with the people I met at wine education training.
From the snatches I can recall of my sister's wedding, it will go fast, and it will go like this: I'll be standing at the altar, and the one thing I'll be thinking is "This... is happening." After hours of horrible little details and matching fonts, it will be happening.
I want to marry with a clean soul, and so I hereby offer apologies to anyone I have angered, offended, hurt, upset, or cut off in traffic. I did a lot of these things, particularly recently, and the fact that my pending sister-in-law's dress arrived at 11:21 AM yesterday from Hong Kong is no excuse.
The primary aspect of this entire procedure that will stay with me is the overwhelming kindness of those who surround me. Last night I saw my best friend's mother on her hands and knees, pinning the ice blue hem of The Bridesmaid Dress That Traveled Round the World. Two college friends watched me bury my face in my hands and announce that I had three weeks to teach myself advanced PowerPoint for the reception slide show, and offered to give a work holiday over to pulling together a DVD so I wouldn't have to worry about it. My sister, between scrubbing the floor and cleaning the bathroom as her two sons bounced around her, sat down at the kitchen table and painted my nails. Three coats.
And you, The Readers, quite overwhelmed me with your registry generosity. I could win a Pulitzer (actually-- no I couldn't) and it would never mean as much as your sewing machines and ice scoops.
I do not deserve these people. They seem not to notice, which I don't deserve either.
I've been telling everyone I was on my own in Florida, but the fact is I was never alone. I will go to my wedding from my father's house after six weeks of concentrated family time. Last week I met my mother, sister, and nephews at a department store; as I came around the corner of the aisle Will The Baby Nephew looked up at me from his stroller and smiled. The week before that, he toddled three and a half steps forward into my arms; the week before that, his older brother set his hands on my shoulders and leaned over my computer screen, gazing wonderingly at pictures of his royal self.
There's a scene in The Ten Commandments, the Official Biblical Epic of BlondeChampagne, in which Moses, MOOOOOSES!, after discovering he is Hebrew, looks at his hands, saying, "What change is there in me?... These are the same hands, the same arms, the same face that were mine a moment ago." Somehow I've been under the impression that I'll be this completely different person after marrying-- like I'll be an Official Grown-Up, or somehow competent, or something. I doubt it.
But I'll let you know.
22.5 hours at: email@example.com
Friday, July 13, 2007
Tomorrow is my wedding day.
Posted by MB at Friday, July 13, 2007
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