Carla Bruni

So.  Um.  Getting married, huh?

Wait, was that the punchline?

I'm clearly sitting in a hypothetical room with hundreds of other women, and men, looking up at the screen watching it all happen. Boy meets girl. Boy falls in love with said girl. Boy gets down on one knee in front of girl. Girl screams and says YES, cut to some crazy wedding planning-family drama-wedding planner cray-cray storyline. Cut again to boy and girl at the alter kissing. The. End.

OH MY GOD, it's so not the end! You have to plan EVERYTHING! What color the flowers are and if you want them to have texture, and who gets to bring a guest, and color palettes...I'm sorry what? I need a color palette? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I like black. Let's go with that. OH, that screams funeral? Okay then white. OH, that's so ten years ago? Seriously? Sigh.

Last night I dreamt I forgot to write my vows. True story. Because my fiance' and I are going to be that couple. Yep indeed, if you knew us would you have any doubt? That couple that will do it all their way or the high way. So I was standing up there and was like...I like you, the end. And while cute and all...I don't think that exactly promises a life of love and sickness and heath and indie music. For real.

So here I sit. Ordering personalized cocktail napkins, wondering, when exactly it all got to this point.

Of course I had always dreamed of getting married, but as cliche' as it sounds, the right one just never came along. And then he did. And then I was looking at table cloth swatches.

Be careful what you wish for. 

And love it for every single amazing minute. Because it goes way too quick.

77 days and counting, and it will be here tomorrow.

Just a girl, on her way to making the single most important commitment of her life, questioning, can they even dye my eyes to match my gown? Jolly good Dover.