You know what I think when I hear the word 'wedding'?
I think of cake.
A big, white, many layered cake with two ridiculous looking dolls perched atop it.
That's it.
Just cake.
And lately I'd been hearing the word 'wedding' a whole lot, visions of that majestic, intimidating cake were driving me insane.
Which was actually part of the reason I wanted out of the wedding, at least temporarily.
I felt I would probably throw up during the reception.
The big 'wedding' reception that my dad and Angel had so meticulously planned out. Like it was a great play and I was the leading lady, expected to know my lines perfectly.
All this talk about wedding cake probably sounds weird to you. Which it is.
But, hey, I'm a weird person.
Not romantic. I'd never have called myself romantic.
But I'd always had this wedding thing figured out in my mind.
Except I called it 'marriage'.
And it was small.
And intimate.
And spontaneous.
Not planned and rehearsed.
I remember when I was fifteen one of my friends had asked me to design her wedding dress. (This was when I was going through my 'When I grow up I'm going to be a fashion designer' stage.)
And I remember thinking that an elopement sounded so much more romantic than a mapped out wedding.
Not romantic.
Appealing.
I'm not romantic.
So there I was. Juliet to perfection, like Willow had instructed.
Just lying limp on the floor, eyes closed, looking to all the world like a giant Barbie doll in the stifling white dress, while my ex-boyfriend, fiancé and father all crowded around me talking worriedly.
Oh, don't fool yourselves into thinking they were worried about me. No they were worried about stalling the guests and if I would remember my vows (which dad had written by the by)
Well, Angel and dad were.
I guess Riley must have been worried about me.
Then again he always worried about me. Even after we broke up ad he got married. You see, he was my doctor.
Word of advice, things get very weird if you've slept with your doctor.
Yeah so they were standing over me and arguing away.
I could feel Xander and Anya hovering around in the background.
Willow, probably, hadn't told them what was really happening.
Which was good. I guess.
The less people involved the better.
'Mr Summers, I'm sorry to say this,' Riley began in his 'I'm a doctor' voice. 'But I don't think it's wise for Buffy to go through with the wedding at this stage.'
'Stage?' I heard dad question angrily, 'what stage?'
'Yeah what stage?' Angel echoed my dad. Angel echoes my dad a lot. Its called kissing ass.
I could almost see Riley puff up with importance.
He's got this thing where he seems to think that every time he's diagnosing someone people are going to rush up to him and hand him a Nobel Prize.
'I believe,' he began impressively,' that Buffy is suffering from stress disorder.'
I almost gave myself away at that point. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing. Oh great going Doctor Finn!
'..dark circles under her eyes and the limpness of the hair? Too skinny. Not eating enough I imagine'.
Riley rambled on and on pointing out how terrible I looked while my mirth dissipated, to be replaced by indignation.
Hello! The 'dark circles' were the 'in' thing described in all the magazines from 'Elle' to 'Cosmo'. My hair was done up in the latest fashion! It was *supposed* to look like that! And can I help it if I don't put on weight even if I eat a horse?
Doctor my ass!
'...should get some relaxation. Send her to the beach house in Sunnydale.'
That was my dad's voice.
Shit! What the hell had I missed?
****************
Spuffyness coming up.
I really need to know what you guys think. This is totally different from 'Lose Yourself' and I've never done a first person before. Tell me what y'all think. This is very personal stuff I'm writing here. Review!
I think of cake.
A big, white, many layered cake with two ridiculous looking dolls perched atop it.
That's it.
Just cake.
And lately I'd been hearing the word 'wedding' a whole lot, visions of that majestic, intimidating cake were driving me insane.
Which was actually part of the reason I wanted out of the wedding, at least temporarily.
I felt I would probably throw up during the reception.
The big 'wedding' reception that my dad and Angel had so meticulously planned out. Like it was a great play and I was the leading lady, expected to know my lines perfectly.
All this talk about wedding cake probably sounds weird to you. Which it is.
But, hey, I'm a weird person.
Not romantic. I'd never have called myself romantic.
But I'd always had this wedding thing figured out in my mind.
Except I called it 'marriage'.
And it was small.
And intimate.
And spontaneous.
Not planned and rehearsed.
I remember when I was fifteen one of my friends had asked me to design her wedding dress. (This was when I was going through my 'When I grow up I'm going to be a fashion designer' stage.)
And I remember thinking that an elopement sounded so much more romantic than a mapped out wedding.
Not romantic.
Appealing.
I'm not romantic.
So there I was. Juliet to perfection, like Willow had instructed.
Just lying limp on the floor, eyes closed, looking to all the world like a giant Barbie doll in the stifling white dress, while my ex-boyfriend, fiancé and father all crowded around me talking worriedly.
Oh, don't fool yourselves into thinking they were worried about me. No they were worried about stalling the guests and if I would remember my vows (which dad had written by the by)
Well, Angel and dad were.
I guess Riley must have been worried about me.
Then again he always worried about me. Even after we broke up ad he got married. You see, he was my doctor.
Word of advice, things get very weird if you've slept with your doctor.
Yeah so they were standing over me and arguing away.
I could feel Xander and Anya hovering around in the background.
Willow, probably, hadn't told them what was really happening.
Which was good. I guess.
The less people involved the better.
'Mr Summers, I'm sorry to say this,' Riley began in his 'I'm a doctor' voice. 'But I don't think it's wise for Buffy to go through with the wedding at this stage.'
'Stage?' I heard dad question angrily, 'what stage?'
'Yeah what stage?' Angel echoed my dad. Angel echoes my dad a lot. Its called kissing ass.
I could almost see Riley puff up with importance.
He's got this thing where he seems to think that every time he's diagnosing someone people are going to rush up to him and hand him a Nobel Prize.
'I believe,' he began impressively,' that Buffy is suffering from stress disorder.'
I almost gave myself away at that point. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing. Oh great going Doctor Finn!
'..dark circles under her eyes and the limpness of the hair? Too skinny. Not eating enough I imagine'.
Riley rambled on and on pointing out how terrible I looked while my mirth dissipated, to be replaced by indignation.
Hello! The 'dark circles' were the 'in' thing described in all the magazines from 'Elle' to 'Cosmo'. My hair was done up in the latest fashion! It was *supposed* to look like that! And can I help it if I don't put on weight even if I eat a horse?
Doctor my ass!
'...should get some relaxation. Send her to the beach house in Sunnydale.'
That was my dad's voice.
Shit! What the hell had I missed?
****************
Spuffyness coming up.
I really need to know what you guys think. This is totally different from 'Lose Yourself' and I've never done a first person before. Tell me what y'all think. This is very personal stuff I'm writing here. Review!
