God. I can barely breathe. The corset is digging into my skin, my hair is pulled back so tightly it feels like it’s going to tear off, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll be walking down that aisle and into the rest of my life in less than what, an hour? I’m trying to be brave, but I feel like I’m going to faint. Forty-seven minutes.

I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for this.

When Scott asked me to marry him last year, we’d only known each other for a six months. It seemed impossibly good though. He was kind, and smart, and sexy. He still is. Don’t get me wrong. He could make me laugh like a maniac and not even care where I was or if anyone was looking. I was completely unself-conscious in his presence, like I was safe from all harm. And those eyes! Deep and soulful yet still sparkling with life. He could turn my knees to jelly with a single, smokey glance. I got caught up in the magic that he spun. Last summer we’d gone on a trip to Whistler and got drunk on the newness of our love. We hiked in the Rocky Mountain forests and made love on a bed of soft pine needles by a glacial stream. When we finally reached the top of the mountain, spent in every way, we sat and enjoyed the vista. The earth stretched out below us, endlessly rippling into distant haze with deep grey, granite contours blanketed unevenly with evergreens and capped with snow. He turned me gently to him and looked at me with those eyes. Those smoldering dark eyes that dwarfed the entire world, and burned away the bite of the mountain air. And when he asked me to marry him, I had no choice but to say yes.

That was a moment of weakness though! I knew I wasn’t ready to get married. I don’t know why I agreed to it. Okay maybe I do know why I agreed to it. The moment was so perfect. He, was so perfect. And so happy when I blurted out “Yes!” on that mountaintop. And after I agreed to it, it seemed like a freight train. I was powerless to stop myself from getting involved in the arrangements. Booking the hall. Hiring a photographer. Choosing the color theme of our flower arrangements. Going for fitting after fitting for this dress, that still doesn’t fit right.

But damn it, I’m not ready. For the entire year since I gave away my life to the mountain air, I’ve been trying to convince myself that it’s the right thing to do, but I’m not succeeding. And now there are forty-six minutes left.

I’m not ready! I’m not ready! I’m not ready!

Of course Mom and Dad were thrilled to hear about the engagement. They thought I was too old to be single. Kept asking me when I’m going to settle down. They’ve been asking me that since I was 24 when I decided to take a trip to Columbia, just to check it out. Like I was going to let their need to be called Grandma and Grandpa keep me from living my dreams. And then when I got back two years later it got even worse. Mom kept trying to introduce me to “nice boys” she knew. These were the loser kids of her friends from the bridge club. Guys that were 30 and still living with their parents without a job, without a life, without a clue. Did my mom seriously think I was in the same category as these leftovers?

I went back to school at the age of 29. Part-time, of course. I wanted to finish my Bachelor’s degree because it seemed like a good thing to do at the time. Scott was in my Macro Economics class. The first time I locked eyes with his across the lecture hall I knew I was in trouble. This was going to burn fast and hard and at the end of it…

I’m not ready! I’m not ready! I’m not ready!

So here I am. There are forty-five minutes left. Do you think Scott would ever forgive me if I disappeared right now? Climbed out of the bathroom window like I was part of some bizarre prison break? Do you think Mom and Dad would survive the shock and loss of their planned grandparenthood? Would the 300 carefully chosen guests at our wedding understand my need to flee? Or do I bury my panic and my feelings of doubt right here and march bravely into the rest of my life? I have no fucking idea.