One month.
What if my dress doesn't fit and when they say fully stocked bar do they mean even my lushy friends will be satisfied and by friends I mean me?
Okay, breathe.
In all these months of being engaged to the cutest redhead alive, I haven't been able to wrap my head around being one month away. I never thought it would get here. Even when I'd say "May 19" and hear "That's coming up!" I'd think, Don't I wish, but since I have the patience of a toddler I'd say we still have a while.
And now. We don't really have a while.
For the last few weeks I have been entering this awesome and unexpected phase of the engagement. I'm calling it: stopped giving a shit. I'm over the to-dos, and I've decided to instead focus on a little thing called My Honeymoon Wardrobe. So, who is going to buy me this?
J. Crew swimsuit coverups aside (size medium, prefer color shown, will gladly give out my mailing address), I've recently been thinking about something semi-important. Our vows. We're going to do some traditional things (as in throwing the garter and counting on one family member becoming painfully inappropriate during the reception), but one thing that will be personal and non-traditional will be our vows. We're writing our own. And we BOTH agreed to this without much discussion. I believe we came to this decision mainly because the traditional vows don't really begin to cover things for us. The whole for richer, for poorer makes us laugh as we lived for months with overdraft as the word of the day in our house. (Our house that happened to be his parents house because right out of college we had nowhere to live and had to beg his parents to let us move into one of their rooms where we proceeded to stick Molly in the closet for seven months.) We have poorer down. I also don't think you can get much worse (as in for worse) than when Mike stopped the TiVo in the middle of the best Gilmore Girls episode in order to tape THREE different episodes of Survivorman (we get it, he would totally kick ass on any season of Survivor, even the season when the mosquitos made all of the Survivors their bitches, but watching him eat plants got old during episode one).
So, we're going at the vows from a slightly different angle. I've been thinking of all the things I want to say. How do I sum up the love and the respect and the downright insanity of our relationship? How do I talk about the desire to be near him as often as possible because he makes me laugh hard and constantly. And then there's the hair (remind me, have I mentioned the hair?) and if that weren't enough, there's Molly and our mutal love for torturing her and laughing at her and spoiling her. And there's Bud Light and pizza and The Office on Thursday nights.
I also think about the stories I want to share with our wedding guests, the one about the Empire State Building and his first declaration of love on top of it and the time he spit lemonade all over the living room because I made him laugh. And how he told me, during week three, that he tried every night when he got home from work to wait as long as he could to call me, but he could never last more than a half hour. I want to mention how much I love his dancing and how much fun he sucks out of every Target experience but I'd still rather go with him than go alone. Then there was the night we both got so drunk on San Antonio's River Walk, we laughed our asses off for blocks and blocks before we realized we had no idea where our hotel was. And then we laughed some more.
There's just so much good stuff to cram into a few minutes. And, even though I pride myself on expressing my feelings and doing it in a way that evokes a few "aws" all I can really think to say to Mike in that moment (the moment) is:
Babe, I'm so fucking excited. And I'm going to take this even more seriously than a Banana Republic sale.
And then, in one month, I'll get to kiss my husband.
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