In just three weeks, I will be walking down the aisle to my love and marrying his sexy ass…and the rest of him. We’ve been together six and a half years, and we are both very ready for this to happen. I can’t wait to be his wife. But along with that excitement come nerves. Along with nerves, come the nervous poops.
I suppose I should briefly fill you in about my background. I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, OCD, sporadic depression, and…wait for it…IRRITABLE BOWEL SYNDROME! Fun! My irritable bowels flare up because of my anxiety, so in order for me to avoid a mad dash to the toilet, I need to remain as calm as possible at all times. That’s no easy task for an anxiety-ridden person such as yours truly.
Anyway, my fiancé and I had preferred to have a simple, intimate, casual wedding, but being the only daughter of an Italian mother made things more complicated. According to my mother, a casual wedding was out of the question. A war in my family broke out because of this when we first got engaged.
Eventually, we came to a compromise: Ervin and I would do the ceremony the way we wanted, and my mom would do the reception the way she wanted. This all would go down only if my mom abided by my rule: NO STRESS ALLOWED. I should’ve known then that that wasn’t going to happen.
Though the ceremony is going to be how we want it, outside in a tree house at a park, everything else is going to be the way my mom designed it to be: lavish, large, over the top, detailed, and glamorous -- all qualities that are not me. I simply detest plans and details because then there are expectations that follow. I prefer comfort and spontaneity so that we can focus on what’s really important and throw everything else to the wind.
I also despise being fancy. Ugh. Allow me to paint a picture as to just how not fancy I am. A few weeks ago, I randomly announced that I was going to change my underwear and put on deodorant. My fiancé responded, “Are we getting married today?” It’s no surprise that I would much rather have a BBQ and throw a football than sit at a head table wearing a ridiculously expensive and glittering white dress with all eyes on me. (Side note: White is the world’s most unflattering color, and I think it’s criminal that brides are expected to wear it. Who are we kidding, anyway? At 32 years old, I am no longer a virgin.)
My mom has put in a lot of man hours preparing for this day attending to details that I hadn’t even known existed or cared about. Her stress is contagious, and the last thing I need to feel while getting ready at her house the morning of the wedding is her anxiety emanating from her very pores.
If she’s nervous, I’ll feel it, which will then flip the switch for my intestines to start the gurgling process. My bowels are starting to percolate just thinking about it. If that happens, I’m screwed. I will already, at that point, be working very hard to keep my other concerns at bay in order to avoid brewing up a batch. These concerns include the following:
What if I screw up my make-up? I hear it should be a little heavier for pictures, but I also don’t want to look like a clown in person.
What if I can’t get my eyebrows, which are two different shapes, to look even?
What if my stepkids keep asking me for things instead of the other hundreds of adults that will be around? (Don’t get me wrong; I love them very much, and I’m elated to become their stepmom officially. I just don’t want to be told, “I’m hungry. I’m thirsty,” 30 times while preparing to wed. Call me selfish, but I want to enjoy that day.)
What if guests pester me for crap that A) I don’t care about B) I don’t know how to solve and C) I don’t care about? I just don’t care about the stupid insignificant details or other people’s crap. Sorry, not sorry.
What if all eyes remain on me the entire duration of the event? Italians like to clink their glasses a million times during a reception to watch the bride and groom kiss. I’ve never understood it, and I find it obnoxious. Also, Italians, at least in my family, love to judge other people. No pressure being the one in the white gown. To be totally honest, I actually could care less what their opinions are; I just find it annoying and rude that the room will be buzzing with them.
The biggest concern of all is that I will feel massive intestinal cramps, which are the signal for an impending ass explosion, and have to run to the bathroom mid-aisle walk while my fiancé stares incredulously and confusedly at the back of me. I'd really prefer not to have diarrhea on my wedding day, especially mid-ceremony, the most important part of this whole spectacle.
It would suck tremendously if this happened at the reception, too. The best part of the reception will be all the booze flowing and the delicious and obscene amount of food. If I have to be at this fancy banquet hall sitting in front of everyone’s scrutinizing eyes, then I better be able to participate in the indulging part.
However, there is an upside to the possibility of having nervous diarrhea that day. If I end up staining my white gown, then I won’t have to wear it anymore.
(PS -- My mom doesn’t know it, but I bought an entirely different dress to change into at the reception. It’s sporty, comfortable, and NOT WHITE. I can also wear my sports bra with it.)