As a little girl I remember seeing a bride in a perfume commercial. Blonde hair, skinny as a rail, full red lips, perfect blue eyes. She looked flawless. Timeless. A vision in complete white, except for her lips.
After I got engaged, I thought somehow even if I didn’t look like her, I might become the most attractive version of myself on my wedding day. I set about to lose weight. Got my wisdom teeth removed so my front teeth wouldn’t go crooked. Washed my face. Got better shampoo.
The make-up artist told me red lips would age the photograph. I can’t find white shoes that work with the dress that satisfy me. Instead I have sparkly grey shoes. The pinterest ideas I had kept getting pushed further and further back. There was no time for a second dress fitting.
In five days, I’ll be married. My mid-section is thicker than I want it. My hair is mousy brownish-blonde, not even a real color. My hands are stained with paint. I don’t have white shoes for the wedding that work, my dress doesn’t fit, my nails aren’t done, I was too chicken to wax, my hair is thinning-falling OUT falling the heck OUT-and all I can think about is chocolate.
And that’s OK.
Because its just a day, with way too much pressure on it and on me to be “perfect.” The only thing that is beautiful is God. Somehow He will make it OK.
Somehow he will make it beautiful for me and Clayton to say our vows, and laugh, and kiss our way into the only thing that really matters to me about this whole mess
In fairy tales, the story ends at a wedding. I want my story to end at Happily Ever After.
Hopefully, my dress will stay up, but if it doesn’t-hey, its coming off anyways. I’m just going to keep chanting Gatlinburg and pray it shakes out pretty and that I don’t hate the photos. Everything else is gravy at this point.
Now pass that darn chocolate.