This is what you think as a bride two minutes before you get married

I. Dare. Not.

Well, I can't make anything more of it. For a year we've been looking forward to this one day, to this one terribly scary moment. My father on my arm. My bridesmaid with a basket full of rose petals in front of me. And then I have to. Walk. Step by step. Around the corner. Up the white path. One hundred eighty pairs of eyes looking at you. At you. The bride. And then you think something like this:

• Goddammit, I wish I had just exercised twice a week lately. Maybe my upper arms are still a bit flabby. Would people notice that I ate a Big Mac the day before yesterday out of pure stress and because I find it incredibly delicious? I hope not on my bare knees.
• Would people see that I drank a bit more than the two previously agreed acceptable glasses of wine yesterday out of pure stress and because I...
• Okay, walk. I have to shine, smile, and look happy – because that looks nice. Even if it's for the photo and videographer. Oh god, where are they? They’re not missing this moment, right? Don’t frown even if you’re looking into the sun. Don’t sigh from the tension. But I have a quivering lip. Spaghetti legs. Nausea. And smiling hurts my jaws. I have truly never felt so many nerves at once.
• Keep walking. Look for distraction. Ah, look. I see that colleague sitting. And that aunt. And those friends of my boyfriend. Don’t look at my friends who are crying in row three. Don’t look at my mother. Don’t look at my dad on my arm… Don’t… Did it anyway. Goddammit. Don’t cry. Smile, do it for the photos.
• What should I do? Yes, walk forward, and then give my father a kiss. And then? Sit down, stand up, hug my boyfriend? Do I even say goodbye to my boyfriend once I’m there? This white path seems endless. You’re not allowed to kiss before everything is arranged, right? Uh, no. Never practiced this. Plus: I’m wearing sky-high heels and my dress is quite long and my bouquet is quite heavy. Plus: it’s thirty degrees and high summer in the Netherlands. Yeah, Sunday children with such weather at the wedding. But the sweat is currently pouring off my head. Not an ideal situation to improvise a bit with half kisses and sitting and standing and sitting again and standing again.
• I can at least pray that the deodorant works well in tropical temperatures, because you wouldn’t want to see sweat stains on your wedding dress...
  Keep smiling.

• This skin-colored gigantic underwear that you can’t see under a white dress is actually quite comfortable.
• I should have bought more expensive shoes because these are already pinching.
• Okay, first the rings. Oh yes, the rings. Romantic to put them on each other… And then… They don’t fit. That’s because it’s thirty degrees and our hands are quite swollen from the heat. We just laugh about it. In the meantime, I’m suffocating in that wedding dress with long lace sleeves. Seems like such a nice idea when you buy it on a rainy day in November. I hope they can’t count those sweat drops from row four onwards. Sorry for rows 1 to 3.
• All four witnesses are sobbing. That’s kind of cute. But don’t look.
• Damn. Also those wedding vows. Yeah, nice idea, saying a sweet word to each other at the moment of truth. Try to get that whole ‘I love you forever and ever’ nonsense out charmingly with those one hundred eighty pairs of eyes on you. While you’re desperately holding in your Big Mac belly, that too.

It’s here, it’s happened. Married. Wife of. The Christ. I am so happy. Not just with my husband, no, especially with the fact that the scariest part of the day is behind me. I don’t have to walk down an aisle anymore. From now on it’s bubbles, cake, love, toasting, and partying. It’s nice to finally be able to really laugh and look at my mother.

I’m glad I dared. Because it was by far the most beautiful day of my life.