Photoshoot

Lights

"Coffee?"

"I can't, I may have taken more than my regular dose of fluoxetine. Don't tell my psych." I am definitely disclosing too much information to this poor unfortunate but possibly soul-less PA but, let's say it's the drug talking. Fluox always makes me hate people less, hence the yada-yada.

"Uh. Sure." Confirmed. She's soul-less. Whatever happened to customer service? To building rapport? Yeah, well.

Six months ago while I was planning this bit, I feared that too many people would want to be in on it, or would want to laugh at me, or feature me as the idiot of the moment in social media or in the dying dinner-time news. After all, not many women in their 30s spend half a year preparing for a bride-only wedding photoshoot. It doesn't make sense but bear with me, it was my mother's idea, or at least she inspired it.

Ten and something years ago, my mother's idea of celebrating my 18th birthday was to put me in a dress, take me to a salon, and have a professional photographer take photos of me. Apparently she thought that come-hither makeup and a lavender slinky dress were passable symbols of a woman's coming of age. Let's just say she's a big reason why I'm on anti-depressants and more. So after about 10 minutes of awkward poses, we ate chicken at Max's and that was it. 18th birthday done and dealt with. Pity those girls who had to deal with 18 candles.

Fast forward to six months ago. I was living alone with five rescue cats, recovering from a mental breakdown. I was lucky to get a job which I can do at home, so I was fine penny-wise. For a 30-something single girl, though? Not the best arrangement if I want to meet anyone. Especially since I've become more intoverted after developing social anxiety (more on my crazies in other stories, focus on this one, b.) Nevertheless, I've watched enough "Say Yes To The Dress" clips on Youtube and if I wasn't going to get married (or have any meaningful relationship, for that matter, none who will love me through all this murky stuff I'm in) I thought why not pull a trick like my mom did way back, and just have a photoshoot with me in a wedding dress? Genius.

Hold the flashback, cute and curly photographer is here.

"Hey, so, you ready?" This is Cute and Curly. CaC. Hah! Scratch that. He's Arnold. I don't care what age he's in but man oh man this guy is my type. He's built like a fridge, broad square shoulders, dark curly hair, and, hallelujiah, he does not have a horribly provincial accent.

"Jitters, huh?" Fuck me, I did not answer his first question and probably had a dazed look going.

"Nah. We starting?"

"In five." He grins and shows one annoying dimple. I can eat you up, dimple.

"Five... hours? Minutes?"

He looks at me and shakes his head slightly. Well, he thinks I'm crazy, which is spot on. "Minutes. See you downstairs."

I was sipping my water kefir (judge all you want) and staring at the crater lake outside when he popped his head back upstairs and said, "What do you think about this suit?"

Holy heck. "Uh. Suit? What's going on?" Yes, please marry me! I've already seen our life together in my head a la Amanda Palmer's Bed Song.

He grinned. Hi, dimple. "Well, you'll need a groom in some of the shots. I showed you the shot list, right?"

Of course I saw the shot list, idiot! This is not my first photoshhh... Damn he looks good on that suit.

"Really?" he said, "I can't be that good."

I said that out loud?

"Yes you did, come on down with me."

"I did it again?!"