Days 4, 5, 6: The days blurred together at this point. I vaguely remember helping make the centerpieces, typing up their wedding announcement at 1:00 a.m., and carrying around my latte like Linus carried his blue blanket in Charlie Brown. I attempted to check in with my hubby back home but every time I got him on the phone, it went like this: “Hey honey, how are—No! I don’t know where the tape is…Yes that looks fine…What? Why do you need me? Can’t I–Hun? Yeah, I have to call you back in five minutes.” Two hours later, I’d try again with the same result. Finally, I took to hiding in car in the pathetic attempt to carry out a conversation with just a single person. I was found within five minutes. They wanted to know why I was in a car. Umm…is that where I am? I was, cough, lost? Sure, I’ll help you with that. Mush, Brittany, MUSH! Before I knew it, it was the day before the wedding. My prayers had been answered.
Day 7: The day before my wedding, my husband and I would have been in two major car accidents if luck hadn’t been on our side that day. In my deranged Bridal Brain state, I had just picked up my wedding dress. While I drove home and talked on my cell phone, I decided this was a great time to whip out our camera to pose for pictures. As you might of guessed, the car drifted towards the curb which so happened to be in front of a big lake. I grabbed the wheel just in time. While swallowing my heart and pondering my complete stupidity, I ran a red light. I slammed on my breaks in panic, leaving me in the middle of the intersection while my elbow accidently popped me into neutral, rendering the brake or gas pedal useless. Was it luck? I don’t know. But no one else was at that intersection but us. Seven lives left. My mind reels now at how many ways the day before my wedding could have ended. One thing is certain: Bridal Brain is an infectious and dangerous disease that impairs your thinking and reasoning.
So, I refused to let my sister drive herself anywhere that day. After running a million errands with her hair in curlers that included a walk-through inspection with her apartment manager and a stop at her fiance’s house to write away their savings in checks for people that needed to paid the day of the wedding, we found ourselves back at my parents house ripping out her hair. Curlers I should say. Thankfully, the Bride do not malt under stress. We drove out to the Chapel to ensure that everyone in the Bridal party knew how to walk and then headed out to dinner. Besides everyone being so hungry we could have converged on the waiter straight out of a zombie movie, it was fun to finally sit, relax, and drink plenty of wine. I kept my cell phone close, my husband was flying in that night. Of course, his flight was delayed and I wound up at the airport at midnight waiting for him. The second he held me in my arms though, it didn’t matter at all. All of my stress floated away as if it was part of a bad dream. I felt just like a giddy teenager in his arms. Once back at my parents home, I had to tear myself away from him to put the Brides hair in curlers. And you know what? I didn’t even mind. 2:00 A.M. was my new bedtime. And tomorrow was her big day.