Here is a picture I drew of Bridezilla:
Don’t mess with her. She’s for serious.
Anyway, as the week of our nuptials approached, I was scrambling to get everything done in time. I had just graduated college a few weeks earlier, and I had wasted the time I could have been using to prepare by doing stupid stuff like studying for final exams and making sure I had enough credits to graduate. Like I don’t have enough to worry about. Luckily, Doug’s sister decided to stay with us for a week and save me.
Everything was going smoothly until the night of the bachelorette party. No, it was not a night of misfit debauchery. Although I will give you a taste of what ensued at Doug’s bachelor party as per the following conversation we had as Doug was crawling into bed at 4:00 AM:
Me: Oh, you’re home. Did you have a good time?
Doug: Uh, yeah, I guess.
Me: You smell like beer.
Doug: Yeah, I know. By the way, your cell phone is dead.
(I had sent my cell phone with him just in case he needed to call anyone.)
Me: Oh, that’s okay, the battery was low so I’m not surprised.
Doug: No, I mean the strippers poured beer down my pants and your cell phone is dead.
Me: ……OH.
My bachelorette party was considerably tamer. I mean, I had invited my mom and Doug’s mom – we weren’t going to any strip clubs. Let’s face it, that would have just been awkward for everybody. We had a lovely evening wherein we painted pottery and then had dinner at Olive Garden. However, while I was opening my gifts full of lingerie and various naughty items, I noticed that I had “that feeling” in the back of my throat. You know, the one that says “You’re going to get sick and there’s nothing you can do about it!!” It seemed my body was exacting its revenge for the stress-filled weeks leading up to this moment and the sure to be stress-filled days ahead.
I don’t know why the stupid thing was so happy. It was going to suffer the most.
The next day, in between decorating the church and getting ready for the rehearsal dinner, I guzzled orange juice like Cookie Monster would if he was the Orange Monster instead of Cookie Monster… they should make an Orange Monster. I was determined to force enough vitamin C into my system to chase away any chance of being sick on my wedding day. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working. At one point I remember stringing Christmas lights and tulle along the aisle at the church and deciding the benches looked like a good place to take a nap.
My family members weren’t super happy about me shirking my responsibilities, but what could they do? I was the bride and I was sick.
Later that evening we had the rehearsal dinner catered in my parents’ huge back yard. Our entire wedding party was there plus all of Doug’s relatives who had flown in from various states to be there. The night was fairly relaxing, but I was too nervous to eat much. My sister, who is a physician’s assistant, recommended I take Nyquil to get a restful night’s sleep. I thought that sounded like a brilliant plan.
Cut to 4:00 AM the day of my wedding.
Apparently, the orange juice had made my stomach so acidic that the little food I had eaten the night before did not act as enough of a buffer for the Nyquil. I couldn’t believe it. Here I was on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life praying to the porcelain god. Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME?!
Oh, and I couldn’t stop.
I quickly showered and drove the three blocks to my parents’ house to ask mom for help. I’m sure I looked like death walking only by sheer willpower motivated by the intention to get married.
This is what my eyelids look like from the back after I’ve looked at the sun:
I was up and going by 8:00. My hair was done by 9:30, I was make-upped and dressed by 10:45, and the shot had kicked in.
Cut to 11:30 on the day of my wedding. I am in my 18 pound dress getting my 92nd picture taken, I haven’t eaten since the meager amount of food I had the night before, and I’m ravenous.
Luckily, it all worked out in the end. Doug and I got hitched without a hitch (see what I did there?) and by 9:00 that evening I was exhausted. Being the lame people that we are, we left our own reception early (at which I could not even eat my own cake because my stomach told me “Don’t you dare put that in your mouth! I will humiliate you in front of all these people! Don’t you even think I won’t!”). We sleepily drove to our bed and breakfast that we enjoyed the requisite minimal amount and passed out.
And despite all that orange juice, I still woke up sick.
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