My Nightmare

I've had wedding nightmares before. You know, it's my wedding day and Mom says, "Oh, hey, p.s. I forgot to send out wedding invitations so we just used the phone system at church and everyone will get a voicemail about it." And then the flowers show up and they're huge, gaudily pinkish-mauve roses and the wedding planner whips out forest green tablecloths and everyone thinks it's beautiful. Sick. I've had those before.

But this nightmare, this is of an entirely different caliber. I think every girl dreams not only of the day itself, but what she will look like; her hair, make-up, and of course, the dress. She looks stunning and she feels like a knock-out. That's what girls dream of. So when I start having nightmares regarding how I look and feel...well, that's just downright nasty, subconscious.

It goes a little something like this: I'm walking down the aisle with my Dad. He's smiling and patting my arm, while I'm a little bit teary eyed but can't keep a grin off my face. I shift the positions of my arms a little bit....and something feels wrong. As I lift my arms, I realize that I haven't shaved under my arms in what appears to be, oh, three months or so. Horrified, I slam my arms down and keep them there the remainder of the day. In every picture, my arms look huge because they're glued to my sides.

And the worst part? This is not a one-time dream. To date, I think I've had it about seven times. Awesome.

So, friends, if you see me move in limited ways, you'll know. If you come up to hug me and it's like hugging a T-rex, you'll know. And most importantly, if you see Emily slip me something pink that glimmers in the sunlight in the middle of the ceremony, oh, you'll know. So don't mind me if it looks like I'm doing a strange dance mid-ceremony, I'm just sparing everyone the trauma of unsightly underarm hair. You're welcome.