Perhaps this week, I'll do a repeat of "Things I've Never Done Before" (see archived blogs from the week of my 30th birthday, in which I shot a gun, saw "Cats," and swashbuckled). More likely, however, I will be swamped with wedding details. What was I thinking when I agreed to get married four days after my birthday?
Maybe it was: Now, for every single anniversary, you must take me to Paris if you try to pull one of those, "This is both your birthday AND anniversary gift." I finally understand how my Dad feels, having been born December 30. All you poor December babies!
Truthfully, though, I don't really mind. I wish I didn't have a crap ton of work to do today (how is it that small weddings are STILL detail-overload?), but the whole getting-FWT-for-keeps at the end of the week is surely worth it. And really, the only reason we chose this date is because it's the only date the band was available. Priorities, right?