Tonight was my pre-wedding hair trial. I went to meet my hairdresser who had a baby 4 months ago and is thin and gorgeous and hip. I hate her. Expect that I totally adore her. But, let me tell you, if she wasn't so nice, I would have drowned her skinny ass in the sink as she was washing my hair.
We did the trial run. There was a lot of backcombing and hairspray. I looked... well, a lot like I did in the early 90s. A lot of backcombing and hairspray. Her idea was a cute concept of half up with curls. In reality, the high hair part of the concept is not so much me. Especially when it took me over half an hour to brush out said backcombing. Afterward, I looked like I had a bad 60s bouffant. That is so not how I want to spend my wedding night. "Just a sec honey, I have to brush out my matted hair." We may have to rethink this.
Another day passes and we're another day closer. I'm well beyond panic stage right now. I don't even know enough about what I am not ready for to know what I should panic about. You know?