I’m willing to bet that you’ve been to a wedding before — once or twice, perhaps. Well, since you’re the expert here, I want to know: Have you ever spotted Wedding Terror Face?

Wedding Terror Face (which from this point forward shall be cleverly truncated as WTF), was a phenomenon I witnessed at one of the very first weddings I attended with the beau. I hunted the internet in vain for a photograph that unquestionably demonstrated this spectacle in all its awful glory, then finally gave up and drew this illustration:

This. This is the face of wedding terror. Note that the mouth is frozen in a wide, toothy smile, but the eyes are vacant, pained, and soulless; focusing not on a particular individual or activity but fixating, as it seems, on some imaginary middle distance. Absolutely overwhelmed, this bride operates wholly on autopilot. Somebody ought to sit the poor woman down and give her a drink. And a strong one at that.

Sadly, WTF was not a one-time occurrence. No. I would go on to observe it at nearly every wedding I attended. It soon became painfully clear to me that a wedding could easily overpower a person. So many guests, so many obligations, such a big day, such a life-changing event. No time to process anything, always moving from one moment to the next until the entire event becomes one brief, confusing blur.* Where exactly did these ladies go wrong?

Then it hit me: I, too, am at risk of becoming a victim of WTF.

I am more petrified of contracting WTF at my wedding than I am of backne, or cancer, or Sarah Palin.** If it could happen to all the others, it could surely happen to me, right? I mean, I’m sure no bride has ever intended to end up with a wedding album full of photos where it appears as if she’s on the verge of screaming, “Oh my fucking fuck, what the fuck is going on?!?” before melting into a puddle. Or punching someone in the face. But somehow it happens.

I mean, LOOK at this. Here, let’s zoom in real quick:

See? SEE? If this poor woman isn’t in dire need of help, I don’t know who is. She also clearly needs some time in the sun. Either that or somebody felt too lazy to bother adding more color.*** Sorry man, I never promised you a rose garden,  and I never claimed to be a professional cartoonist, either.****

Since WTF seems to be entirely outside of a person’s control, I didn’t want to be caught unprepared. I needed to know how to save myself. So I Googled “how to prevent wedding terror face” and came up with hit after hit on Star Trek episodes, terrorists, and veils. Nothing on how to avoid being trampled by your very own wedding. Why? Why?

Then I fell asleep and had a dream.***** I dreamt I was at my wedding. It was held high on a mountain in a gilded meadow. The reception space was scattered with hundreds of flowers in vintage vases on top of antique sewing tables. All my friends were highly attractive people with asymmetrical haircuts and plastic 80’s neon sunglasses. We were all just sitting around the campfire on Victorian couches and hay bales, laughing, feeding ourselves bundt cake, while the late afternoon light painted us in yellow and orange. The Flashdance was slowly, masterfully spinning some soulful grooves. Time moved at a crawl. The happy hours stretched out into blissful days. Our wedding was just like that one Journey song where it goes on, and on, and on, and oo-oo-oooon.

I woke up and I felt at peace. I knew then that everything was going to be OK. Until I remembered that my wedding is not on a rural mountainside, there will be no campfire or antique furniture or bundt cake, The Flashdance is not my vendor,****** and my friends are actually normal-looking people with regular haircuts who look like assholes when they wear neon sunglasses.

Then I was overcome with fear again. So I drank. Copiously. But that’s beside the point. I am still working on figuring out what’s in front of and behind the point. I’ll let you know if anything conclusive comes of it.

But then, without warning, a realization ran up and karate-chopped me in the gut: Nothing can save me from WTF except myself.

The naysayers tell me I cannot prevent my wedding from passing me by at the speed of light. So I will do my best to go about slowing it down. I will carve from the schedule every tradition and commitment that does not resonate with me. I will refrain from chasing down every guest and trying to squeeze a meaningful half-hour conversation from each one. I will sit down. I will breathe. I will look around. I will dance. I will go back for seconds. I will refill my cup, again. I will make time.

I will not pledge to be perfect, but I will pledge to be present. Just be present. And moreover, just be.

And if any of you who are reading this end up at my wedding and see even just a glimmer of WTF appear, please. Take me aside, splash some cold water in my face, stick your tongue out at me, and make me take some shots.

Together, we can find the cure for this horrid affliction.

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* Not unlike college.

** Actually, I take it back, Palin wins the fear challenge and advances to the final round.

*** Oopses, that would be me.

**** I also never promised that this blog would be, you know, good, or even necessarily make sense, but this is the danger you tempt when you roam the wilds of the internet.

***** This dream actually never happened.

****** Booooooooo.