As life usually has it, June 20, 2015, the wedding day, eventually rolled around no matter how many times we uttered, "It's taking forever. I feel as if it will never get here." The events leading up to the wedding ceremony were spent in a nervous, psyched stupor as I tried hard to imagine how today could possibly be the "best day of my life" when I was about to face 100 degree heat, endless posing for pictures, and people gawking over James and me. To make it clear, I was very excited for marrying James and spending the rest of our lives together, but the actual wedding day left me in a jittery mess internally while I tried to maintain my composure outwardly.

Nonetheless, I am used to competition, having been a high school and college athlete in cross country and track. Quite humorously, I visualized our wedding and reception as another race and prepared for it in the same fashion by remaining focused and quiet while replaying "Lose Yourself" over and over in my head. However, much as my premonition of spilling sauce all over me suggested, James struggled the morning of the wedding. I cannot recall exactly what happened, but I know it involved a missing suit in a locked apartment, and a lost tie in a lost car. For me, on the other hand, it was smooth sailing. I made it to the church with my dad's arm in tow, awaiting the doors to open, and I was able to take a deep breath and momentarily reflect on how I got here largely thanks to my #squad (I can't believe I just used that juvenile term.). 

My bridesmaid Jenn-She refreshed me with water, mints, food (and later on alcohol) whenever I needed it. Her talents of being a bridesmaid were on point. She was handing me things I needed before I even knew I needed them. 
My bridesmaid Steph-She handled James' issues with ease and manned the phones whenever he called with an emergency. This is the reason why I cannot recall what exactly happened with him that morning. Steph also has a charisma about her that makes being around her a joy.  
My bridesmaid Jane-Her mere presence makes me laugh. She came up with chants, like we did in college, to say before the wedding in order to keep things lighthearted.  
My bridesmaid Kara-She led a prayer right before the ceremony, reminding us all the importance of keeping God the center of marriage. She was also my roommate leading up to the wedding. 
My bridesmaid Alyssa-She is calm and levelheaded. I like having her by my side because I know everything will be all right when she's around. 
My bridesmaid Kelly-She's the entertainer and keeps the mood fun. She was the one singing and having everyone laughing as we were getting ready. She also introduced me to James. 
My bridesmaid Whitney-The only one married of my bridesmaids, she gave me much needed advice on weddings and marriage the day of the wedding. We can look at each other and know what each one is thinking. All she has to do is look at me from across the room, and I a huge smile lights up my face.  
My bridesmaid Michelle-Having such a passion for God and the Catholic Church, her faith is a constant reminder of my desire to be a loving wife in the eyes of the Lord. She and I, also, can never stop giggling when around each other. And, no doubt, that day proved no differently as we both took great delight in the word "nuptials." 
My maids of honor Amy and Sarah-These two have been by my side since I was a baby. The kept everything in order and led the group with such poise. They made me laugh when I needed it. They listened when I called. They gave me advice when I asked.
My Godmother and aunt Charlene-She had one of the most important jobs throughout the whole wedding planning and that is keeping my mom calm while also using her skills of organizing and planning to pull off all of the little detail and logistics. 
And finally my mom-As evident in the pictures that I post, she did an amazing job of crafting, decorating, organizing, planning, and supporting me throughout this very important time in my life. Her loving guidance has shaped me into the person I am today. 
Of course, I would in additionally like to thank my dad, my now husband, James, and all family and friends who traveled near or far to be at our wedding.  

The doors swung open and "How Beautiful" rang out of the singer's mouth as I took the first step closer to my crying husband, and it was the best day of my life....

P.S. I did not elaborate on my wedding day because I do not want you comparing your future or past wedding to mine or anyone's wedding for that matter. Some good music, dancing, your family, friends, and spouse by your side, and God in your heart will make any wedding the best day of your life. :-) I will continue posting throughout the next few months a few more posts on life after the wedding and married life. 

If the days leading up to the wedding were a sound, it would go like this: wshhhhwaaaaaahhhheeeeekkkksighsighsighoooooemmmmgeeeeeuhhuhhhuhhhhok. Thus, I do not recall much of what happened, but I do know that I tried to sneak in as much Parks and Recreation as I could. 

Soon enough all of my family and bridal party had arrived to Raleigh, North Carolina, and the day that I thought seemed so far away when I got engaged was a day away. We all assembled at St. Raphael's Church where we practiced the wedding in speed mode. Afterwards, the bridal ensemble made out way to downtown where we dined at the Big Easy, the restaurant/bar where I first laid eyes on James. 

The rehearsal and rehearsal dinner carried out in typical fashion. We laughed, we drank, we ate. I was thrilled to have my family, closest friends, and soon to be husband under one roof, but underneath the excitement I had some nerves on the amount of attention and busyness that the next day would hold. Anyway, the night soon ended, and I headed home with my mom. As I was walking into the door, I spilled sauce from my leftovers all over my white dress. Covered in sauce, I started to cry. And that is what I did the night before I got married, hoping that this was in no way any indication of what was to come….

It doesn't bode well for the wedding when you're nervous about the bridal shower due to the  amount of attention you'll receive when opening the gifts. Yep, I was anxious days before the event even arrived. After all, all of these people I loved were taking time out of their days to "shower" me with love and gifts. I wanted to make sure I displayed the appropriate amount of enthusiasm when I unwrapped their presents, no matter how mundane the item may be. Therefore, being one who is always well prepared, I practiced changing my facial expressions, varying the pitch and tone of my voice to sound authentic, and responding with humorous quips to each unique gift. In all my wisdom and experience, I have gathered for all of those people who go through life rather awkwardly like me some advice on handling showers and other social gatherings that center around you.

Hello, yes, I'm talking to you, the one standing in the corner. I know how you feel. At most social events, I often skulk to where the food is and pretend that I am just fixing my plate (for the hundredth time) while making light conversation with whomever is around, or I obscurely stand near a group of people and laugh whenever they do. However, there will come a time in your life when the unavoidable happens. You will be the center of attention. Whether this be a wedding, surprise birthday (the worst), Bar Mitzvah, retirement party, or when you find yourself singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" in front of family and friends, you must have a toolkit on how to succeed with being the main event, the focal point, and the heart of everyone's love and affection. So with further ado...

1.) Write down some small talk topics on index cards. Make sure they are small enough to fit in a pocket or purse. Pull them out if you get stuck. Topics can include, but are not limited to, the following: the weather, sports, the food, work, entertainment, current events, and the always debatable question of "Who would win in a fight? A taco or a grilled cheese sandwich."  Casually make a joke about using the notecards. This shtick works best when you make it very obvious that you are a very awkward person, and you talk in a monotone voice while making fleeting eye contact. This a win because everyone will think you are being funny, but really your life depends on those notecards. 

2.) Lightly touch everyone you encounter, so he or she feels special. People especially enjoy when you caress their face or repeatedly rub their arm. 

3.) Do not linger on one person for too long. You want to make sure you divide your attention equally among all guests. A good rule of thumb is to spend no more than three minutes with each guest. It is crucial that once 3:01 rolls around, that you exit the conversation immediately, or the other attendees will become jealous. What I like to do is start my watch secretly when I approach a partygoer. Every so often, I will "scratch" my nose while glancing at the time. Yes, this does jeopardize your listening abilities, but that's the price you have to pay to make sure everyone has his or her fair share of your time. 

4.) If the particular party requires you to open gifts, have a go-to line that you can toss around. "Thanks, I really needs this," works well. Say this phrase after each gift number that is a prime number (2, 3, 5, 7, 11) so as not to appear robotic and repetitive. For every other gift, just repeat what the item is in an excited voice followed by an interjection. For example, "Hand towels! Wow! Thanks!" or "Utensils! Gee wiz! Thanks!" For a list of interjections visit this website. Problem solved.

5.) Lastly, designate a person who will permanently or temporarily relieve you from all the attention. This strategy can work in a number of ways. Make sure that friend who can't handle her alcohol has plenty to drink. Discreetly bring up a political topic in which your loud aunt is very passionate. Inconspicuously bump into your mom, so she spills everything she is holding. Whichever plan of action you choose, sit back and relish in the fact that now you are once again flying under the radar. Don't get too comfortable, though, for these situations have a way of unfortunately working themselves out. In that case, see #1, #2, and #3. 

Now, my companion, you are a pro at handling public events. You are a regular socialite. Following these tips will guarantee to leave an impression on all of your guests and have you basking in the limelight. You're welcome. 

Most of our former years are spent preparing. Preschool is meant to assist you as you move toward kindergarten. Kindergarten is prepping you for elementary school. Five years of elementary school gets you ready for middle school. Three years of middle school shapes you for the hardships of high school. Four years of high school molds young minds for the challenges and freedoms of college. Roughly four years of college takes the last drop of your money while simultaneously preparing you for a career. In all, the first twenty-five years of our lives are largely spent planning and preparing for something ultimately bigger and better. I would venture to say that most of us aspire to hold some kind of career in our life. I would also venture to say that most of us were required to undertake some type of training to acquire that job. Then, when we desire another job, we do more training to move on to the next one. 

However, there is one job that really requires no preparation at all. In fact, quite a bit of people obtain the position without any training at all. This job is 24/7/365. There are no sick days, vacation days, or even retirement packages. At this job, you have to work really closely with one single person every day. You two are demanded to make decisions about money, decisions about other human being's lives, decisions about religion, and decisions about dying. On some days, you witness your coworker going to the bathroom. At first, it shocks you, but soon it becomes normal. Eventually, one of you will observe as a baby comes protruding out of your colleague's body. The sight of this spectacle will make you want to gag; nonetheless, you will be instructed to comment on how beautiful your partner still looks. Unfortunately, there perhaps will be occasions when one of you becomes really ill. You will be obliged to care for your peer with no extra pay! At even more times, Suzy from Accounting or Bob from HR will seem more appealing. You might be tempted to work with him or her instead, but you can't without dire consequences. Quite shockingly, this job could last you as long as thirty, forty, fifty, or sixty years, so you will witness as your companion undergoes many physical and mental changes. One day, your once faithful associate might not even remember your name. Although this might distress you, you would never leave his or her side, for you would not want to. And if in the end all you are left with is love, you, my friend, have prepared well. 

In all, any job with that much stress and demand would require extensive preparation with intense questioning on both sides of the parties. I am just a newlywed, so I do not have much experience. However, I do know that life comes after the wedding and being a wife or husband is far more important than any catering company or DJ service. Therefore, I implore you, no matter what religion your are (Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, Atheist, Agnostic, Wiccan, Scientologist, Neo-Pagan, or a member of the Church of the SubGenius), to enroll yourself in pre-marriage counseling and tackle those tough questions that one day you will face ( i.e. Which way do you roll the toilet paper?). If you pass, you are rewarded with one of the best promotions of your life-being someone's husband or wife, and that is one of the most coveted jobs out there. 

 I was fooled. Hoodwinked. Deceived. Tricked. The movies deluded me. My imagination mislead me. How could an activity appear so awesome but yet be so mind-numbingly tedious; how could an event seem as if it would make you feel so powerful when in reality it renders you powerless? That is the very definition of registering. Besides things that are actually the worst (ie. cancer, terrorist, poverty, and getting sunscreen in your eyes), registering for a wedding is the epitome of the worst. 

In the deep realms of my mind, I pictured James and I dressed in all black, storming down the doors of Bed, Bath, and Beyond and tearing through that store, Mr. and Mrs. Smith style - James with the scanner gun and me drop kicking and karate chopping the crap out of things. "We'll take you, you Capthalon® nonstick muffin pan." Just two BA people registering for a wedding. In actuality, none of that happened even remotely. To start, registering took place during store hours when all the customers were still there. Apparently, this is a well-known fact that in my twenty-five years of life I was not privy to. Disappointment Strike One. Next, we were greeted by an employee whom for now on will be referred to as Woman Who Ruined My Fun, WWRMF for short. WWRMF was to lead us around the store. Disappointment Strike Two. Finally, WWRMF held onto that scanner gun as if it were the One Ring (Shout out LoTR fans) or the last Horcrux (shout out HP fans) that would inevitably lead to her doom if it were unclenched from her claws. Disappointment Strike Three. 

So ten minutes into our registering, the whole process was on Disappointment Strike Three. Therefore, the next three hours was spent with my trying to survive and make it out of the store alive. WWRMF started out with taunting us into registering for fine China for a set of eight - mocking me into believing that I would ever cook a meal that would warrant China that totals over $500. Wondering further into the depths of the kitchen department, we found ourselves asking her (She still wouldn't let us even have one little touch of that scanner.) to scan cutlery that costs more than the therapy I was going to need when this was finished. When we finally made it to the beyond section, and I was delirious from the shrill pain of giving my opinion on such commonplace items ("It's a flippin' pepper shaker. I am going to shake pepper out of it."), James had registered for taco bowls and a bacon press that leaves an imprint of a pig. I couldn't even muster up the energy to stop him. In fact, by the last hour I had pretty much had blacked out and really had no recollection of how we managed to escape the clutches of WWRMF. 

A few days later, when I was able to regroup and reenergize my soul, I had quite a chuckle glancing back at our registry. In the warmths of our own homes, we shifted through items we wanted and absurd items we had absolutely no need for in order to form the right registry for us. Yes, registering was beyond mundane, but we realized, as we were adding items to the registry, these items were meant for our new, joint life beyond the wedding. Pun and cheesy cliche 100% intended. 

One of the absolutely best parts of planning a wedding is taste testing food from various restaurants. In fact, I highly recommend grabbing a friend, a coworker, an ex with whom you hope to rekindle your love, or a stranger off the street and showing up at establishments to try out their cuisine for your upcoming wedding that will eventually get mysteriously called off, or, hey, you never know… These places will roll out the red carpet for you and bring you multiple helpings of one dish. ​"Excuse me waiter, will you bring me more of the mac n cheese. After my hundredth bite, I still can't tell if I really like it." In total, we visited five places that gave us the same kind of go around. However, one caterer stood out to all of us, but not all for the same reasons. 

On one particular fall evening, my entourage (the fiancé and the mothers) and I made our way downtown to Raleigh's famous barbecue restaurant, The Pit. My mom had traveled eight hours to meet up with Bobbi Sue (names have been changed, but the pseudonyms definitely reflect the true identity) with whom she had been corresponding for weeks now. Upon our arrival, we were told that Bobbi Sue no longer worked for their company but had been replaced by a woman named Mim. Now, James has often told me that I can be quite  timid, which I will admit that my nature tends to lean a bit on the meeker side. Standing at 5 feet 0 inches and clocking in at barely over 100 pounds, I know how I would fair in an altercation, and I am using whatever defense mechanisms I have to avoid one. It's a wonder that I ended up teaching at a high school. With that being said, outspoken, ostentatious, towering people intimidate me. Not because I place little value on my self worth but because these people could easily crush me just by sitting on me. Just like Buster Bluth's school's motto of "Children should be neither seen nor heard", I tend to put this principle into practice whenever thunderous human beings grace my presence, especially those in the wedding business. 

With that being said, Mim came flying like a bat out of hell to greet us and usher us to our seats. The woman was tall and loud! For the next hour or so, our taste testing became the Mim Show. She ordered that we get real china plates instead of the plastic kind that look like china. She pretty much demanded that I hire a "bodyguard" to move guest away from me after the wedding ceremony as if talking to these petty people for a mere five minutes would ruin the whole wedding. She blabbered the whole time while I rolled my eyes to myself at each of her so called suggestions and advice. However, I never uttered a word of objections, for I knew my companions would never agree to this absurdity. 

I was wrong, for something more powerful than Mim was in control of their minds or, rather, their stomachs. They were under the influence of The Pit's reputable, delicious food. With each taste of the pulled pork and each bite of the soul rolls, they became weaker and weaker until, before they knew it, Mim was no longer a loud, obnoxious woman clamoring on about the Perfect Wedding and jacking up the original price by nearly 50%, but instead she was a floating Beef Brisket with an angelic glow around her, singing hymns of a soft, sweet melody that went like this "Choose the Pit. Choose the Pit. Choose the Pit." They had succumbed.

Nevertheless, Mim was fired and so was the next girl after that. By that time, we were in a bottomless pit (pun 100% intended). We were caught between excellent food and poor service with little time to change caterers. In the end, Mom threw out her superb negotiating skills and landed us a deal and some comps with The Pit, so we had excellent food and excellent service. Sometimes, it pays to be patient and timid just as long as you have very not timid people to back you up. 

Rounding out my To Do List in the first trimester of wedding planning was finding a DJ. For a hot second, I dabbled in the notion of hooking an I-pod up to the speakers and blasting that sucker throughout the room. That lasted all of ten seconds when I realized that my I-Pod from circa 2004 was a.) Mostly filled with music from Now That's What I Call Music 1-10 and b.) missing. Nevertheless, going with a real life DJ was probably in everyone's best interest considering there is a time and place for Aqua's Barbie Girl and All Saint's Never Ever, but a wedding isn't one of them. In fact, cracking the top 3 on our Power Rankings for weddings would be 1.) Food 2.) Drinks and 3.) Music, so having a DJ to get it started in hur was crucial. 

Fortunately for us, James' old roommate was a DJ in his spare time, and James promised he would deliver; in addition, he was giving us a discount for obvious reasons. I was sold. The months passed by with very little contact with the DJ. I was not worried. James was not worried. However, someone, who will remain nameless, was worried. Apparently, according to The Binder, the couple should have an initial meeting with the DJ followed by several other get togethers to discuss semantics and details down to every last minute so everything is PERFECT!!! We had had no such meetings by the third trimester. All, I could throw out there to the worried, anonymous person was that James has visual evidence of his DJing in Vegas. That had to count as something, right? It's Vegas. 

Meanwhile, James and I commenced on our playlist. It was tricky blending all of the tastes of our diverse crowd into something everyone can get up and dance to. Motown music for our older black folk. Dances that explicitly tell you how to dance like the Cha Cha Slide for the rhythmically challenged older white people. Country Roads for anyone who hailed from West Virginia. Country music also for anyone from the Mountain State. Hard core rap and Gangnam Style for our younger black crowd and Asian population respectively. I'm just being stereotypical on that one, but you can't assume otherwise. Show tunes for my theater teacher and aspiring Broadway star maid of honor. We No Speak Americano on repeat for my two former Hispanic students. Again, slightly stereotypical. And upbeat songs with lots of vibrations for the deaf people. James and I grabbled with the list for quite some time. "You can't play Nelly's Air Force Ones at a wedding. No one wants to hear that." So sue me, Nelly in the early 2000s had some jams. Ummm…Ride Wit Me, Hot in Herre, Country Grammar, and Ignition (Remix). Nelly had us getting turnt up at our Catholic middle school dances. Plus that bandaid on his face was totally hot. Finally, we settled on Nelly only if the crowd requested it, absolutely no Happy by Pharrell, and Taylor Swift played sparingly. 

Eventually, we did meet with our DJ, but we didn't need to nor did he need our playlist because he totally killed it. He was excellent and had everyone dancing the whole night. The moral of this story is if your DJ has played in Vegas, don't sweat it and leave Nelly for Throwback Thursdays where he belongs. 

Around my second month of wedding planning, waist deep into wedding brochures, websites, packages, and binders, I started combing about for a photographer. In terms of how rankings go, the photographer fell significantly above the florist, way below the caterer, and very near the dress seamstress. In other words, wedding photos hovered around a 55-60% on the Wedding Scale. They mattered enough that I was willing to take the time out of my life to track one down and meet with her but not enough to flip out if anything went down on the day. After all, anyone who has Insta considers himself or herself to be a master of photography. If worse comes to worst, I'd convince a guest at the wedding to take the photos and then filter the heck out of them. 

Nevertheless, I ended up meeting with Stacey from Stacey K Photo one day at Panera. She was chill enough to deal with my passive, indecisive, clueless attitude on weddings but serious enough that I knew she would get the job done. I asked her questions printed from a script on the Knot's website; she answered the questions, and it was a done deal. I had myself a photographer. Or so I thought. 

Around the fifth month of wedding planning, neck high in wedding brochures, websites, packages, binders, appointments, and planning, I decided to touch base with the photographer like my binder demanded that I do except the binder told me that I should have done that about a month ago. The binder is a real bitch sometimes. I contacted Stacey and knew I was in trouble when the first line from her reply began like this: "Lauren, so good to hear from you again but…"  "No, Stacey, no! Don't leave me like this!" Now, what was to follow that line would have been a lot worse to people who are, how do I say this, normal. People who are normal. However, all I saw are dolla dolla bills, yo. $$$$. Stacey was announcing to me that she was pregnant. With twins. Due on June 20. How convenient, June 20th was also my wedding day. If I decided to stay with her company, she would provide back up photographers for me and a $700 discount. Ummm, sign me up please. It took me all of two seconds to determine that I was sticking with her. But there was one problem. 

My mom made a trip down to North Carolina during the ninth month of wedding planning when I might have been literally drowning in wedding brochures, websites, packages, binders, appointments, planning, phone calls, and emails. Each time my mom made a visit, she had an agenda of what were going to do during her stay. "Lauren, I want to meet with the photographer." Oh yes, the problem was that I HADN'T TOLD MY MOM THAT MY PHOTOGRAPHER IS PREGNANT WITH TWINS AND DUE ON THE DAY OF THE WEDDING! I grinned. I laughed. I stammered. I joked. 

"Well, you see, Mom, what had happened was thatstaceyispregnantwithtwinsandtheyaredueneartheweddingdayandshemightnotbeabletomakeitbutshesgivingmeabigdiscount," I finally managed to sputter out, hoping she didn't catch that last part. "But she thinks she is going to have the babies early!!" I throw out in a last ditch effort. 

Mom was surprisingly okay with the news. She was by no means thrilled, but fire did not rage from her eyes either. In fact, three miracles occurred within two days of my delivering this news to my mom. 1.) Baby number one was born healthy. 2.) Baby number two was born healthy. And most importantly 3.) My photographer was able to make the wedding. Was it odd that I felt weirdly disappointed that I no longer would get the discount? Just kidding (kind of), Stacey K did a super job! 

Real flowers, like dogs, have always been one of life's little pleasures that I only really want to experience with my sense of sight. I have no particular yearning to own any of them nor to have any interaction with them involving my other four senses. "Oh look at the puppy. How cute." The key word there is "look." I stop at look. There is no need for me to take my relationship with that puppy any further. I have no desire to smell the dog, feel the dog, hear the dog, and naturally to taste the dog. I share much similar feelings with flowers. Flowers are beautiful in their natural state, and the ambience of a room with flowers perched on shelves and window sills is very appealing. However, flowers die in a couple of days if not properly cared for, which I am incapable of doing considering most of my attention is diverted to designing websites and planning Friendship Days. Therefore, once the carnations die, I now have, in lieu of flowers, wilting, crumbling pieces of death falling over the place. When that happens, my progression from just looking at the flowers now moves onto touching the flowers to pick up the mess they left behind and smelling the odor they are omitting. I do not like that progression. In fact, I have told past boyfriends and my new husband that I never want a bouquet of flowers but rather a bouquet of toilet paper or chocolate or season tickets to the Mets, for those items are practical and enjoyable to experience with other senses besides sight. 

I took so long in the introduction to preface my opinion on flowers because my involvement in the decision-making process for flowers was rather brief and went a little something like this…
Mom: There will be __________ flowers in your bouquet and at the reception.
Me: Ok. 

My participation was so short lived that I cannot even recall what types of flowers we had. However, they looked really beautiful next to all of our decorations and made our photos stand out. So, yeah, I am split. Pro-They look really nice. Con-They are another expense. You decide. I had no regrets mainly because someone else dealt with their lifeless petals.  

Before you blast me for being a narcissistic, self-loving female, I do not agree with the above title but consider it necessary to headline this blog edition, featuring my hunt for the dress. In all, I did not exactly know what I wanted in a dress except for three important conditions: 1.) It must not swallow me whole. 2.) It must not be outrageously priced. and 3.) It must be comfortable enough for me to enjoy the plethora of food and dancing the evening was sure to entail. What I did know was that I was anxious to get the process finished because I have a hard time mustering up enough enthusiasm toward a single dress that I would only wear for a few hours. Take the Homecoming gown for example, the number of oohs and aahs I produced could never quite live up to the expectations of the sale associates. "Are you excited?" they would ponder. "Ohhhh yes, it's beautiful. I feel like a princess," I would croon back in a voice dripping with the last bit of energy I had left to offer. These shopping trips usually left me exhausted. 

It came as no surprise that my very first trip to a bridal shop I wanted to buy the very first dress that I tried on. I don't remember much of what it looked like, but it was oversized and frumpy looking on me. It didn't matter. I still begged my mom. Somehow, being the reasonable person that she is when it comes to shopping, she convinced me to go back to Raleigh and continue the search.

Once again, my outlook toward Bridal Things was transformed. While I still resented the fact that most sales associates shared the same opinion that the bride is the most important person so why not splurge on a multi-thousand dollar gown, my excitement for trying on the elegant material was beginning to not to come across as so fake. After all, this was a dress that I would be wearing as I entered into the sacrament of marriage with a person I love and with whom I will spend the rest of my life. No offense to my past Homecoming dates, but this whole wedding shindig was shaping up to be a whole lot of a bigger deal than some night swaying awkwardly back and forth in a school gym. I won't go as far as to say that I wanted to look like a princess, but I wanted to look nice. 

So I went to bridal boutique after bridal boutique only to turn up fruitless each time. Too itchy. Too tight. Too expensive. Too overdone. While the dresses were, indeed, beautiful, none of them were me. I was simple and needed to think simple. My mom had the idea of looking at bridesmaid dresses that were white (What bridesmaids actually wear white??). Finally, I found one that fit all three of my criteria and knew in an instant it was perfect ( I vowed not to use the words "perfect" and "blessed" in my blogs, but I already blew the whole perfect thing in the engagement story, so I might as well start spewing that word around now.). More importantly, the lady did not try to convince me to get something more expensive, frilly, or flowing, stating that the bride is the most important person. 

Because in reality, the bride is not the most important person. She should not have to be placed on that pedestal and forced to live up to unrealistic expectations. She's going to make mistakes and mess up. She's not always going to look beautiful and put together.  When she fails, her fall shouldn't be alone. She should be right there with her groom who is just as equally as important as her. Together they are striving to get closer to someone a lot more important, God, for when they work together to be closer to Him, they, in return, get closer to each other. Not to mention, the bride and groom have some family and friends who are pretty important people who support and love them along the way. Therefore, a wedding dress is not meant to outdo everyone. It's meant for the bride to look nice for all the important people in her life that came together that day.