I was on the fence about weddings.
Big white dress? A sweaty groom? Stuffy ceremony, boring reception? Crappy cake? Mundane vows that everyone and his brother repeats? Pre-nup signing before the service? A big ol’ diamond ring that everyone and her sister has? $25,000+ for a day that will last a few hours? All to put on some sort of show that helps you prove your love? To whom? To them? Or to you?
I was on the fence about weddings … then I got engaged.
Suddenly, instead of spouting off my anti-marriage/wedding remarks to anyone within a 500 foot radius, I’m buying wedding planning books and creating new folders on Pinterest. No one warned me about the wedding section of Pinterest! I’m looking up color schemes, checking out venues, and trying to figure out how in the hell I’m going to suddenly become Martha Stewart so that I can actually pull off all of that DIY crap. Wedding this and wedding that. Wedding wedding wedding. My perfect wedding. My flawless wedding. Bridezilla’s were taking over the world!
Then my mother calls. And my step dad texts. And my grandma emails. And they all have ideas on who I need to invite. So I write all these names down, and count all of the heads, and once our date was picked (in a hurry, as well), I rushed off ‘Save the Date’ cards.
Phew. Time for some rest … right?
Nope. I started having mild panic attacks. I started eating a lot of ice cream. I even quit Pinning … and that’s how you really know how bad it was. My fiance kept talking about how sure he was; how he knew without a doubt that this is what he wanted … and here I was, wavering. I was full of doubts, as I always am. I was unsure. I was confused.
And just like that, I quit being excited about our wedding.
Some days passed. A couple weeks passed. My fiance notices that I had not touched my wedding-planning pile. He asks me what happened to my Pinning hours on end; to my telling him all about the fifty-thousand different shades of pink. So obviously, I began to cry. I was so overwhelmed; I hated weddings! I didn’t want to spend thousands of dollars on a day, when we could use that money for a place of our own or a killer honeymoon. Then there was the family issue. I have a family full of drama-addicts and an awkward past that proves I don’t do well around them. I didn’t want to be in a room surrounded by people that don’t even know my favorite color; I didn’t want to once again kiss the asses of people that have hurt me deeply in the past, just so they wouldn’t give me crap about not inviting them to my wedding. The day was quickly becoming more about everyone else, and less about the two of us.
“I don’t want a wedding!” I scream.
“Is it that you don’t want a wedding, or could it just be that you don’t want this big wedding that you feel you have to plan?” He asks.
Hmm. I thought about this a second. Could it be that Pinterest had deceived me? Could it be that perhaps I was just not meant for a big grand affair? Was I against weddings, or was I just against the weddings that everyone else had?
What did I want?
Me, Loony. The girl that was adamantly against marriage until she got engaged; the girl that despised weddings until she got engaged. I’m the girl that has the fashion sense of a 12-year-old girl; I’m the girl that uses Nair on her eyebrows because she’s too lazy to pluck; I’m the girl that doesn’t like getting dressed up in fancy clothes. I’m the girl that used to think being ‘sexy’ was the only acceptable way to be, but who now prefers her fiance’s t-shirts over lingerie. I am not fancy or cultured or sexy or gorgeous or creative or Martha Stewart. I’m just me; I’m just Loony. And I want to marry this man.
I want to marry this man because he has proven to me that the people who say “Soulmates don’t exist,” are the people that haven’t found theirs. This man knows me, all of me, and he knew it all before we even met in person. This man is in my head, in my heart, in my soul. This man speaks to my little and pulls her out to play. This man is my soul mate. And I want to marry him.
And so, we have arrived. I may still waver and I may still be unsure. But come December 13 (yes, it’s on a Friday), I will walk up to and stand beside my Alex in a small and intimate ceremony that binds us together for the rest of our lives. The day will be for us, about us, and only us.
Pinterest, I still love you. I do. I will always love you. But stay the hell out of my wedding.