You’re having a nightmare, and have to choose between three doors. Pick one, and tell us about what you find on the other side.
What a perfect time to tell you all about a nightmare I actually did have a few months ago. Many of you know that I recently got married for the second time.
Since I was marrying my long-lost first love, and since I didn’t have a big girly perfect wedding the first time, I wanted the whole big gorgeous David Tutera wedding thing.
I’ve heard it’s not uncommon for brides to be to have wedding nightmares, and I had my share. The stress, the shrieking NEED for perfection, knowing you’re spending way too much money you don’t have, wanting to make sure everyone has a good time, blah, blah, blah. The fact that I did all of the planning and it was a largely DIY wedding didn’t help.
So, to answer Michelle’s challenge, let’s get on with the nightmare…….
I’m having a scary dream. I’m lost and wandering. I come upon 3 doors. I know I have to choose one, because Monty Hall is standing right behind me, and there are a bunch of weirdos in costumes holding signs behind him, screaming at me to just pick a door already and get on with it.
I pick the middle door. It opens to a church basement. The basement of the church we attended when I was a kid. The fellowship hall.
It’s full of people, there must be some sort of event going on, but I’m having a hard time grasping what it is. People are all dressed up, but not like they are at church. Like they are at a cocktail party….or a wedding reception. Holy shit! It must be MY wedding reception!!!
What the hell is going on here? I look at myself and I’m wearing a bathrobe. I see my parents. But both of my parents are dead. My mom is my age,and she’s wearing MY favorite black cocktail dress. I don’t see my groom anywhere. I ask someone what’s going on.
Why has the reception started? I don’t remember there being a wedding. It looks like I’m not even ready to go.
Someone tells me that they waited so long for the wedding that never happened that they decided they would just have dinner and start the party.
Still no sign of my groom.
I wander into the room where I’m supposed to get dressed (even though this isn’t the church I was really getting married in) and see that there is no wedding gown there. There’s a trunk of clothes, so I start to rummage through it. They are my clothes, but all I can manage to scrape together is a tattered old prom dress with spaghetti straps. For some reason, I chose to wear this-with a striped golf shirt under it. I look utterly ridiculous.
I look like I crawled out of a dumpster, my mom is rocking my favorite dress and the party went on without a wedding, but being stood up at the altar is the ultimate humiliation.
I frantically call my Prince Charming, who will now take up permanent residence in the dog house, to find out where the hell he is.
“You never finished your dress, so I kinda figured there wasn’t going to be a wedding.”
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