cliffside

This morning I'm a bit sore from having clawed my way back up and over from the precipice I flew over yesterday...the precipice into medoldramatic romanticism. The scary, scary thing? I didn't even know I'd fallen until last night, when The Fiancé was reading my blog and suddenly exclaimed aloud, "'makes [your] throat close, [your] eyes smart, and [your] stomach clench'?!?! You're kidding, right? Really? Since when?" He looked at me in mock horror.

I cringed.

And it was then that I realized...I had become my own mortal enemy: a bride. Thankfully, I am about to marry someone who is capable of identifying my own absurdity. And unapologetically pointing it out to me. Before helping me climb back to sanity.

30 years of singledom and intelligence and strength, all down the drain with one little photograph. Alas, is there hope for me? According to Caitlin Gibson and Rachel Manteuffel in a recent Washington Post article, I'm not alone, for they decry:

"But we have seen what happens to some intelligent, strong women when confronted by the multibillion-dollar Wedding Industrial Complex: Those few unattractive tendencies, weaknesses generally kept under control -- bossiness, melodramatic romanticism, obsession with looks, agony over superficial details -- coalesce into a toxic distillate. What chance does anyone have against an industry that seduces the rampaging feminine id?"

So you see, like everything, this is not my fault. I am a mere victim of the Wedding Industrial Complex. How can I possibly compete?


source: Princess Lasertron, as featured on The Offbeat Bride. Drown in button bouquet wedding porn on her Flickr photostream.