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13 Is An Unlucky Number

April 29, 2013 - Liz Skoczylas
My dining room looks like David Tutera puked an orange and pink wedding all over it.

If Santa Claus decided to get into the wedding business during his off-season, his workshop would look like my parents' basement.

There. Is. Wedding. Stuff. All. Over.

In fact, there is probably some neglected wedding something-or-other floating around my car because I don't want to deal with it right now.

I swear, I'm not trying to be a bridezilla. But, I will most likely attack the next person who asks if I'm nervous or if we're done with everything.

The wedding is 12 days away. We are nowhere near being done with everything. Anyone who has ever gotten married or planned a wedding knows that you aren't done until the vows have been said, the party is over and your butt is firmly planted in a beach chair with your feet in the ocean.

That is, unless you are detained in some tropical place when your groom suddenly goes missing... Heh.

It was a rough weekend for Nick and I, particularly this past Sunday, which was 13 days until we are due to be wed. So, I blame it completely on the number 13, and not my own psychosis.

I had a list of things I had wanted to complete during the day Sunday, some of which included him, because 1. I wanted his input, 2. He is the one with the Sam's Club membership and 3. I didn't want to be the only half of this relationship spending money.

I'm nothing if not honest.

Well, turns out, we weren't exactly on the same page when it came to how we should spend our Sunday, which, as I said, was 13, THIRTEEN, days away from our wedding. I saw it as an opportunity for the two of us to knock out some of the little projects. He didn't.

So, I did the only logical thing I could think of. I told him I didn't want to marry him anymore. I told my mom I was calling off the wedding. And then I sat outside and cried. Then, Nick came outside and we had a slightly louder conversation than normal, with me crying and holding the dog. And, our poor neighbor had no idea that we were fighting, because he was trying to talk to us about the weather while we were trying to act like normal adults who weren't fighting on their side porch.

It was all very dramatic.

Then, when that argument got us nowhere, I went inside and started cleaning. And then, we started being a little nicer to each other. And, compromised to do what he had planned for a few hours, followed by many more hours of wedding details, complete with a shopping trip.

When we returned home without killing one another (although, it came close a few times), Nick suggested that I may want to take a bubble bath with a glass of wine before jumping back into putting wedding stuff together. I yelled at him that I don't have time for nonsense like bubble baths. However, being a good, very extremely tolerant groom, he insisted that it might help me relax a little. (And, my guess is, he wanted an hour without my nagging. Well played, sir.)

Despite the cleaning that had taken place earlier, though, our apartment is back to being a train wreck of wedding explosions. Gifts for the bridesmaids, bathroom baskets and decorations are on our dining room table. The groomsman gifts are in our guest room and basement. There are decorations on our kitchen table and ottoman. Our honeymoon is half-packed all over the guest bed. Our living room has decorations on the coffee table.

My parents' basement is also stocked full of decorations and favors and boxes to hold the decorations and favors. This wedding has literally taken over EVERYTHING. And, it is VERY overwhelming.

I am trying my very best not to yell at everyone around me. I am especially trying to be nice to my groom, who, very bravely, somehow STILL wants to marry me, even after he dealt with a giant Liz-monster most of the weekend. Maybe he'll end up being the one detained on our honeymoon. Maybe I should watch my back a little.

Or, maybe, we should both stick it out and wait to be sitting on that beach, together, with our feet in the ocean. We're almost there.

 
 

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