As I sit here waiting, the clock ticking down the seconds until I walk down that aisle, I can’t help but ask for anything but that. I see my sister (my used to be “littleâ€? sister) arguing with my mom about the shade of lipstick she’s wearing. And in the back of the room my two aunts conversing with my grandmother, who still can’t stop saying “I can’t believe she’s actually getting marriedâ€?. I keep repeating to myself, “Please God, I can handle almost anything, just please don’t make me like themâ€?. I turn to my friend Claire who calmly brushes my hair and ask, “Why do I bother? I don’t even know why I let them in back here…they should be with everyone else out there, sitting in a pew.â€?
“Yes dear, but they’re not everyone else, they’re your family, and that’s why they’re back hereâ€?
“I know, I know, but why is it that they too often seem to make me regret decisions like this?â€?