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Mornings are not my strong suit. I don�t wake up happy, most mornings. That is, I don�t wake up happy when I have to wake up to my alarm. When I get to sleep until my body decides I�m done, I wake up fine. When I�m startled out of sleep by the sound of my radio, I�m not exactly thrilled to greet the world.
Chris and I are about to come head-to-head on mornings, too, I think. He gets up a little later every morning, which means I get into the shower a little later every day, which in turn gets me to my desk a little later each day. Not good. It also means I�m jumping into the shower seconds after he gets out, which doesn�t give the hot water any down time. Nothing makes me more disagreeable at 7 a.m. than shaving my legs with cold water.
This morning, insult was compounded on injury by the fact that I lifted the lid of the toilet to find that my lovely roommate had neglected to flush before he left the bathroom. Now that�s just mean. I don�t want to see that, especially not moments after I�d been wrenched from sleep by the unfunny Steve Sweeney making stupid "jokes about little-known Grammy categories. Things like "Artist most likely to stay the longest in an abusive relationship" with Whitney Houston, Kim, the mother of Eminem�s baby and any woman who dates Kid Rock listed as nominees. Just not funny at all.
I should have just stayed in bed.
*****
My cousin Diana and I went to the Great Bridal Expo last night. I�m a bridesmaid in her October wedding. This is the fourth bridal fair event thing I�ve been to, with Diana being the third bride I�ve accompanied. Nothing changes from event to event. The vendors are the same. The prizes are the same. The food samples, when they�re there (this one had NO food!), are the same. It�s still fun, though. An exercise in girly-girlhood, I suppose. We entered Diana into a zillion drawings, chatted with the Sandals representative about the possibility of a St. Lucia honeymoon and watched the fashion show full of anorexic models. Okay�I have no proof that the models were anorexic, but they all had nonexistent boobs and hipbones that stuck out too far and the thighs of 14-year-old girls. The dresses were too big for them. It wasn�t appealing at all. One of the models kept turning at the end of the runway and whacking this woman in the front row in the face with the train on the wedding dresses. Diana and I enjoyed ourselves, although she didn�t win anything or find a dress she liked. We chatted about all things weddingy and planned her bachelorette party. That part was fun.
I called the Boyfriend when I got home and told him I was all wedding�d out. While I was talking to him, I flipped through my complementary copy of Modern Bride and described some of the more horrendous dresses to him. I came to an article on "One Couple�s Dream Wedding" and laughingly described the Dude Ranch Reception, complete with hay bale table markers, cowhide tablecloths and horseshoe-decorated wedding cake. He said, "We don�t have to do that, do we?"
I laughed and replied NO! "None of my little girl wedding day fantasies ever involved a dude ranch," I assured him. He paused for a second, then asked, "So what do they include?"
All of a sudden, we were in the midst of Serious Wedding Talk. Not as an if or a maybe, like every other conversation we�ve had, but as a when. As a when-we-get-married-what-will-it-be-like? kind of conversation.
And, you know, I didn�t totally freak out, or change the subject, or turn it into a joke, or make an excuse to get off the phone, or just not answer him, like I have any other time our conversation on the subject has threatened to turn serious.
I�ve crossed some sort of line. And I�m still okay. I didn�t spontaneously combust. I didn�t immediately hate him. I�m not sorry.
Wow.
And, just between you and me, I brought the Modern Bride to work with me to read on the bus. Just in case.
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