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I was wondering when I would have my first wedding-related anxiety dream.
I think a combination of non-stop wedding crafting, daily phone calls with my increasingly stressed parents, and $650 dress fittings has finally sent my dreams over the border into nightmareland.
Last night I dreamed it was the day of the wedding, and my mother was helping me into my dress. Which somehow had morphed into a white velvet sleeping bag with a red/green/gold brocade sash. My veil had never arrived from New York, so I had to just wear the comb in a poodle bouffant that the hairdresser swore looked really good on me. At that point, I just gave up and started down the aisle, only to look down and see that I was wearing white tights and clown-sized white flats. Then I fell into a tidepool.
Gah.
I wonder what I’ll dream of tonight — my florist just sent me an email telling me that she underquoted the garlanding for the tent.
Double gah.
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