reflecting on two years in May.

What is it that is so absurd about imagining a solitary bride?  Her white dress, bouquet.  Hair hanging about the face in tendrils.  Why should it be difficult to picture her on her own, waking up in an empty bedroom, dabbing make up onto the appropriate areas of her face - all unattended?  Clearly, there is something about this depiction that seems to bang about the head with fraudulence. 

Well , I'm sure you'd say, that's because the nature of a bride is to be fussed over.  And I must admit, I see your point. 

There is the mother, the bridesmaids, all dancing around her in coordinated color.  The father, with quiet smiles and proud tears.  The photographer, capturing her every half-smile, her every twitch and grimace.  All of those moments, not to be missed, and then stuck in frames to hang and pervade for the rest of our days.  There are the in-laws, there is the florist.  The caterer.  The decorator.  The guests and the saying of cheers - it's a production, my dear! 

And then the groom - adjust cufflink, straighten tie - Full of such handsome anxiety.  Surely you couldn't forget him.

Again, valid reasoning.  A bride is to fussing what spring flowers are to buzzing bumble bees.  But if you are not, nor have you ever been, the sort of lady to make a fuss, if you've always gone to even painful lengths to avoid it, well, you can't expect the whole world to change in a day, can you?