Operation Bridezilla, Pimples, Farts, and Other Ways To Fail as A Bride
Less than a week to the wedding day, and I am afraid of random things. Not nuclear war (which, of course, would not be random at all), but rather something even more upsetting – like a pimple or pink eye.
It’s similar to a feeling I get a week before a really important race. All of a sudden, I am afraid to go outside. What if I fall and twist my ankle? Better to stay in bed, and minimize the chance of injury.
The fears around the race day are, of course, performance-based: What if I can’t run?
The current fears are appearance-based, and thus, are less familiar. Not that I am NOT concerned with my appearance, but it’s that I am usually at peace with day-to-day fluctuations on the “pretty” continuum. From especially good hair day on Monday, to dark circles under my eyes on Tuesday, because cats are being assholes (even more so than usual). Post-race cold sore bubbles up after sun exposure and hours of physical exertion, so I shrug and accept the fact that my lips will have the life and appearance of their own for the next three days.
I may wish not to experience these fluctuations at all (why, yes, I just woke up like this!), but I accept the inevitable and move on.
This week is different.
Brides do not get cold sores. Or blisters.
Brides also do not get pimples, split ends, or dark circles under their eyes.
They do not have yellow teeth. They do not fart. They do not sport asymmetrical sports bra tan.
They can have meaningful conversations about flavours of cake, and when a talented baker-friend asks them what flavour they would like for the cake layers, they know what to answer without sounding like they clearly have no business being a bride at all.