I will be single for only two more weeks.
I was divorced more than thirty years ago. I was close to marrying once in that time. Now it’s actually happening. It better. The “hall” and the reception are all paid for. The gown is hanging in my closet; the shoes in the shoe box. Hair appointments are scheduled for me and my daughter who’s my Maid of Honor. I’ve been moving my things into his house and he’s been rearranging his stuff to accommodate my stuff.
All is ready.
Except for me. No, I’m not turning into Bridezilla.
I’m trying to wrap my brain around living with another person. I’ve been rehearsing by spending more time with Morgan in my new home. I’m learning to say, “I’m going to the bathroom. You okay?” since we have one bathroom in the house. I’m packing away clothes because I no longer have two large closets. I’m giving away books because we’re sharing bookcase-space.
I’ve already warned my groom-to-be about my unusual TV-watching habits: I record General Hospital, The Big Bang Theory, House Hunters International and The Real Housewives of New Jersey.
But he’s learning other things:
He now knows that I can be cranky, cranky, cranky, especially in extreme heat. He now knows that I love ice cream…daily. He now knows I can be picky about putting his stuff away. I have three cats and he, allergies and all, is taking them in.
He’s seen me at my worse…and still wants to marry me.
In two weeks I hope he’ll see me at my best.