Saturdays Are for Weddings: 9 Weeks

I have read my fair share of blogs, magazine pieces and books. Women on the brink of huge life changes--like weddings and giving birth--frequently mention that they start have weird dreams related to the impending event. I've had some life-altering events in my life, though neither of these in particular, but I can't say I've ever started dreaming about them. (At least not that I can recall upon waking.) So I chalked it up to "one of those things other women do for which I am missing the proper gene in one of my X chromosomes," like, for example, shoe shopping.

And then.

Hello, crazy dreams!

Of the two I can vividly remember, the first went something like this: Positively everything went wrong. The minister didn't show up. I showed up but I wasn't wearing my dress. Only five people actually came to the wedding. I hadn't given the venue my final headcount. No one could find the flowers. It was just one thing after another. And while everyone around me was freaking the heck out, I looked at Troy and said "Whatever, let's just get married."

In the other, I was in my hotel room, trying to get ready for the wedding. There were people buzzing around everywhere, getting themselves ready and fussing over me (which really just stresses me out) (fuss over me, that is, not getting themselves dressed). And for some reason, my giant phone with the switchboard that sits on my desk at work was sitting on the bed. Ringing. Non-stop. My phone has a caller id screen on it and the screen kept showing that one of my co-workers was calling me from his desk over and over. I kept answering it only for him to ask me for a rootbeer. I had some choice words for him the fifth time he phoned in his request. I confronted him about this at work the following morning (for real, not in my dream) and here's the part that gives me the heebiejeebies: He hasn't had a rootbeer in years; Sprite is his soda of choice. But the night before, they were out of it at his house, so he had some of the "special treat" soda they had bought for their daughter. Rootbeer. What now??

I think I'm going to go back to staring at my mailbox, willing the last half of the response cards to appear.