I was getting ready for the wedding. Simon’s mom and sister-in-law were there making sure everything was perfect. The makeup girl henna-ed my face with a brush tip marker. Simon’s Indian, like about fifty percent of the guys I end up dating, so of course there was henna at the wedding. Henna marker is probably very modern, and it’s definitely a time saver. She did my chest and the centers of my palms, too. Evie and Julianna were bridesmaids, but they had less henna-marker than me. Did I mention we were at the mall? In one of those middle sections with the kiosks that look like wooden carts?
I looked in the mirror. I was wearing one of those newly fashionable headbands that makes your head look like a mushroom, and it was sparkly. My face and chest were henna-ed. And my bridesmaid’s dress was a lovely cut-- inch-wide straps, soft v-neck, floor-length, and in a fabric that fell beautifully, but it was seafoam green with a streak of hot pink and blue from the center of the chest diagonally across one side. Seafoam green is not my color.
I was a bridesmaid, and Simon was marrying a girl I didn’t know. I think her name starts with an M. Margery or Miriam or something.
I decided this was the perfect time to have that talk I’d been meaning to have with him. No time like the present, right? I was not articulate.
And he looked over my shoulder at the girl he was about to marry and said to me, “Honestly, I don’t think you have a chance.”
I woke up at 6:01, 14 minutes before my alarm went off.
I’m not usually one to make much of dreams, but sometimes there’s just one that gets to me. If it means something, what? Talk to him? Don’t talk to him? I don’t have a chance?
Maybe it just means I need to get it over with and off my mind.
I’m telling myself I’ll do it tonight. Which is exactly what I told myself last night.
p.s. This is my blog and my dream and my arms can be as skinny as I want them to be. And my eyes can be huge.