I cringed each time I hear that word, Perfect. Mr A usually mocks me with it. "You want everything perrrfeccctt." Ugh, no honey, I don't want anything perfect. Perfect is straight corners, crisp lines, and tons of hairspray. If you could see our apartment you would know perfect ain't my style.
I am incapable of doing anything in straight lines. Our couch is crooked. There's hair on the floor of the kitchen-yuck, I know. I have shirts with stains. I never iron anything. I love that our plates have chips in them. Why should our wedding be any different than my normal style.
I want fun, casual, exciting, silly, and relaxing. People will be sitting a picnic tables, eating. Music will be playing. People will be dancing, enjoying themselves.
But still our day will be perfect because we're getting married. Duh, that's what makes it a perfect day. A day spent with the man I love, with the people I love, that's what makes it perfect.
I fully expect someone to cause a scene. I fully expect to not look like brides in the magazines. I fully expect Mr A to do something outrageous. I fully expect something to go horribly wrong. I expect to miss my mother, for Mr A to wish his folks were there. I expect to cry, sob even, at least once a day. I also expect to remember this day for the rest of my life, good, bad or ugly.