Weddingbee Blog

Early in the day, The Day Before Our Wedding, it was bright and sunny, shiny, and hot. I’d finally finished my to-do list. It was the end of what I call the Crazy Wedding Week. Mr. Oyster and I had picked up our families from the airport, and we were caught in the whirlwind. You know what I’m talking about. No matter how low-key your wedding (or especially if it isn’t), there’s a bunch of activity, a lot of nervous energy, and family members and friends fluttering about.

But the day before the wedding, I was at home, relaxing by myself, packing up our “wedding things” (decorations and things) to be given to the coordinator that night. It was incredibly quiet. There was music playing somewhere, and the cats were all asleep. I was preternaturally calm. And then I decided to pack my wedding suitcase.

The suitcase was to include almost everything—since I was leaving directly from home to the venue on the wedding day, and we’d be coming home after the wedding, I didn’t need any overnight stuff, just everything on my “wedding list” for the next day. This included things like my jewelry, shoes, cosmetics, my “getting ready” robe, emergency papers, my purse, and of course, my wedding day undergarments, which included my trusty body shaper.

The shaper!

With just two hours to go until the rehearsal dinner, and the sky darkening fast, and of course, all the stores closing, I couldn’t find my wedding dress shaper—the thing that makes the dress fit. I guess it fit anyway, but it was built around me and that shaper.

I remembered it after my final fitting, that I’d put it somewhere for safekeeping. But where? I couldn’t remember, and after searching the entire house, I realized that it was gone. All I could think was that my dress, what I’d put so much work into, the very symbol of… I don’t know, everything… was now not going to fit because of this crap piece of fabric. And that, ladies, is how, after 18 months of relative calm, my pre-wedding meltdown began.

In about 10 seconds I went from this

(1939)

to its most unfortunate opposite:

From designer Olly Moss, and threadless

I tried to console myself with the “Oh, at least you’re getting married, that’s what matters,” that people always say. But it didn’t work. Because you know what? If nothing else truly mattered, we wouldn’t have been having a #$%$@$# wedding. Yep, I said it.

That’s right, ladies (and men), all this planning? It matters. And it’s totally fine that it matters. No, of course it’s not on par with a horrible natural disaster or a national security crisis, but it matters. I think our society spends so much time telling women “you have to get married!” and then tells them, “plan your wedding, but don’t get too into it!” that sometimes we twist and turn ourselves until finally, something breaks and we fall apart.

But there wasn’t too much time for falling apart and there was even less time for thinking about it. The best I could do was pray for some kind of miracle, pledge to use my body-cinching swimsuit in a pinch, dry some tears, and get ready for the rehearsal dinner. As if the heavens understood my predicament, we heard the sound of distant thunder as we headed out the door.

What’s the biggest wedding cliche you’re tired of hearing people tell you?