Countdown

  
I hit myself in the face trying to get my carry-on luggage into the overhead bin on a plane this morning. This is great news, because I’m getting married in a week and there’s no better way to start a life together in front of one hundred people than to show up with a black eye. 
Luckily for me, I have hired an excellent makeup artist. I think my last post revolved around the saga of the makeup hack with whom I parted ways last month – taking the high road, I might add. Well, I am happy to report that her replacement is, pardon my French, fucking awesome. She’ll make my impending black eye look amazing. Now at this point, you may be wondering why I’m not panicking over the potential bruising on my face. There are two reasons for this:

1. I’m tired of worrying about wedding crap. I just don’t have the energy anymore to fret endlessly about things outside of my control. 
2. I’m on an airplane. I suppose I could fake a seizure in an attempt to score ibuprofen and an ice pack, but that seems silly. It would be very awkward to sit on a plane for another two hours known only as the Seizure Lady Who Interrupted My Kid’s Movie and Now They Won’t Stop Crying, My Life is the Worst.
I’m on my way to Salt Lake City for a work thing, which is insane because, as previously mentioned, I’m getting married in a few days. But I hired a cleaning lady in my absence and really what more can you do?

I suppose I could have told my boss I couldn’t attend the meeting, but at the time I honestly thought it would be fine. I also thought that if we weren’t ready for the wedding seven days out, then we would have much bigger problems than my being MIA for a couple days. 
There is still stuff to do, though. I have to get my nails did and fake a tan. (Side note: spray tanning is super fun. You should try it.) I have to convince myself it’s okay not to put product in my hair before going to the stylist the morning of. I have curly hair. That is a really big deal and an indicator of major commitment on my part. 
Speaking of commitment, I’m not nervous about saying our vows and that’s not just because I’ve been married before. It has more to do with the fact that we’ve been together for six years and I feel quite confident that I can predict the subject of all our fights for the next century or two. It also means I can predict – forecast based on a set of unmeasurable assumptions – that our relationship will continue to grow, our love will multiply, and we’ll keep making one another laugh. And, let’s face it, I’m an actor. I thrive on standing in front of crowds in a costume saying scripted words. Except this time, I wrote the words in collaboration with the beautiful man I’m marrying, and they mean a lot more than any playwright’s words ever could. No offense to David Mamet intended. 
Post Script: I finally decided to ask for ice. I’m meeting a whole bunch of coworkers for the first time in a few hours and brought no makeup. Good times. 

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