PERSONAL PREPARATIONS

I was back at my brother’s house to shower and get ready. I relaxed for a bit and realized I was reasonably good at something that I had no desire to ever do again. I was a budding wedding-planning superstar, opting to retire after my first day in the big leagues. How much more magic could one person stuff into a day? I wonder if anyone will see my fanny pack under my jacket?

I sorted out my attire for the evening, making sure everything new was available and designated to the right body part. I entered the shower with my bear soap. I had to borrow some shampoo from the wall-mounted dispenser. Is this a violation of the only new stuff rule? Surely not. I opened the soap and realized that I had a washcloth, but it wasn’t a new washcloth. Perhaps I was a little overconfident in my preparations, as I had obviously not accounted for every interaction with cleaning products I was to have that afternoon.

Should I use a new razorblade, or will that increase the risk of cuts? I asked myself. I was using the same deodorant and toothpaste from yesterday, as well. I was starting to feel impure. Should I stop now and run to the store and start again? I couldn’t! There wasn’t enough time to get everyone through the shower and still be excessively early to the ceremony. I enacted the “it’s only what you wear” clause. I shouldn’t be concerned with my own purity. It was simply the façade of purity that my outerwear, covering up my vile secondhand-toiletry body, will project that was important. At the completion of my cleansing, I realized that my disposable contacts weren’t new either. They were sort of new, but not new new. I couldn’t throw them out, because I didn’t have another pair; I wanted to see; and that simply wouldn’t have been economical. Who the hell was talking about economics? Were my inner voices not united in comprehending what this day was? Today was to be pure magic, with emphasis on both pure and magic. Practicality and fiscal prudence left long ago.

I pictured my beloved in order to try and regain my composure. She would be my guiding force. She had accepted me, knowing my flaws, and decided not to question my apparent knack for crafts. I would stand before all the witnesses we had invited, so many days ago, and pledge myself to her. A feeling of relative peace descended upon me. The next vision I had was of the Pu, and he was laughing. It was kind of a hissing, whistly laugh that made him seem of Asian descent—like some blind Mr. Miyagi-esque ninja master, finding humor in his pupil, who had trouble grasping “sand the floor.” I was never more aware of his all-encompassing genius.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival