In the event of an emergency, I found myself annoyed. I was annoyed that the blood dripping down my arm had stained my white dress. I wanted it to be a fairy tale—Mrs. Cinderella and Mr. Prince Charming. The dress was so expensive too. I had saved for five years to buy it. I had it even before he proposed (I never told him that though). My lips were a bluish hue… they looked like I had just eaten a lollipop or a cotton candy snow cone. My gold curls were tangled into a spider web of knots. My black mascara outlined my eyes like a raccoon. And all that was going through my mind was not how I looked or what condition I was in...it was Jeremy's face as he stood there in sock as half of my arm was sliced straight down the center to the bone. But my dress was not the same dress I saw in "Wedding Day Magazine" five years ago when I was in college. In college I worked at a grocery store. This is where I first saw the dress. Instead of welcoming customers into my line at 7:30 in the morning, I decided to pick up that magazine and pretend I was someone else... planning my dream wedding. My manager gave me a two week suspension for not providing "optimal customer service." When I woke up...my dress was off. In its place was a tissue looking night gown. I had clear plastic tubes up my nose and an IV in my arm. I began to panic. I searched my tall naked body for stitches or bandages. Nothing. I grabbed my purse off the night stand and pulled out my mirror in my makeup bag. I looked at my face and counted a total of 17 stitches on my forehead.
