It’s official: I had my first wedding nightmare the other night. For years, I have had nightmares about being late, getting lost, and searching in vain for my car in a vast parking garage. That’s just what us Plan B-having, Type A kind of gals stress about.
The wedding planning has now invaded my sleep. I just met with a florist, so it makes sense that the nightmare started with the flowers being delivered to the ceremony-reception site. I wasn’t happy with the flowers for some reason. I then spent much of the nightmare frantically trying to remember the name of the florist so I could look up the phone number and call them back.
The only help I had was two surly teenage staff members. Where was everybody, anyway? I finally gave up on the flowers and went into the reception room. Instead of my wedding dress, I had on old, schlumpy clothes. To my horror, I found that the reception was in full swing without me.
My fiancé, Glenn, was standing up at the head table, microphone in hand, in full speech-giving mode. Everyone was eating and generally having a great time. I saw my good friend, Monique, tear into a lobster with her bare hands.
And then I woke up.
Is this what I have to look forward to over the next few months? The scary thing is that sometimes I am late, I do get lost upon occasion, and my car did get towed once. I guess if my nightmares are going to come true, it could be worse.
My grandmother was a big believer in interpreting dreams, drawing on an Old Country buffet of superstition, old wives tales, and her own highly active imagination. She would tell me things like if you dreamed that you lost a tooth, that meant you were coming into money, or there would be six more weeks of winter, or something like that.
Sleep-wise, it’s probably all downhill from here. My brain is already warning me to relax a little and worry less about the details.
But it is a Type A brain that’s doing the warning. So I am also making a note to double-check with the florist, program all vendor phone numbers into my cell phone, bribe the DJ to keep the microphone away from Glenn, and tell Monique that the only way lobster is being served at the reception is in her dreams.
I don’t think I need to tell anyone that nothing proceeds without me or the groom that day.