Thursday, January 16, 2003

It turns out that I may not get to have Father John at my wedding. We want to have the wedding at St. Bridget's, since I received all of my sacraments there. But since Father John is the only priest at St. Mike's, he may not travel to St. Bridget's to the wedding. I wonder how many times I can say "wedding" in the next few sentences. Jeez. Wedding, wedding, wedding.


Now that's out of my system, I'm trying not to acknowledge the dilemma I may face. To tell the absolute truth, everyone keeps giving me permission to "have the wedding I want."

I think the best thing I want is not to have to plan a wedding.

Now, that doesn't mean I don't wanna marry The Better Half. I do. Really. I want to walk down the aisle wearing my Grandmother's gown and my Great-Grandmother's veil, with my cousins, sister and best friend in cute dresses, (they don't even have to be black) smiling, and my family in the first couple hundred pews (not an overstatement), smiling, and John smiling.

And me not stressed out about flowers, seating placements, reception sites, registries, color schemes, finances or photographers. Or flying to some exotic location to honeymoon. I've decided I think it's best if I just show up and look pretty. I mean, I trust my mom and grandmother and cousin and sister. I think they know me well enough to plan something that I'd like. And they really seem to get off on planning this shindig, so I'll let them know that would be the best wedding present in the world. I'll brush up on a bit of ettiquette, throw a slumber party for my girls, give Nanny and Papa some pin-able flowers, and have everyone gush over me. I just am not all about the anal-retentive, cut throat, Type A personality that is usually required to plan a high-publicity event that is a wedding.

I think I'd better ask my doctor for a bottle of Xanax, in case my plan fails.

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