It’s go time people, and by “Go Time” I mean that by the time I get off of work today there are less than 24 hours until my little weekend visitor steps off of his Air Canada flight and is tortured by customs before hopefully running into my arms and spending the most magical romantic weekend with me. Rather than the feelings of pure joy and excitement that I imagine most normal human beings would be feeling right now I’m having a nervous breakdown. Exciting life events have the ability to transform me into a completely neurotic panic induced mess, which explains my decent into madness around Homecoming/Prom each year in high school and also why I will undoubtedly be a Bridezilla when the time comes one day. I’ll allow you to take a peek inside my head the past 24 hours (although there is no guarantee you’ll want to stay there).
- I want to make sure this is the best vacation he’s ever had. EVER. IN HIS LIFE,
- Hmm, just a minor set The five day forecast predicts heavy rain storms and every single activity I have planned is outside.
- I hope he brought a rain poncho.
- Maybe I should make a sign to hold up for him at the airport.
- But what if my cute greeting sign gives away my lack of artistic ability? Was I pretending to have artistic ability to begin with? Why would I ever pretend that?
- If I make a sign and he criticizes my artistic ability he doesn’t deserve someone as thoughtful and sweet and caring and loving and emotionally unstable as me anyways.
- What if I decorated the house with streamers and banners and a cake and wine for when he gets there?
- Starting to think it’s best that I don’t look like I’ve dedicated the past two weeks to preparation for his arrival.
- Project “Look like You Have a Life” is officially underway.
- Guess that means I don’t have to clean the house like a manic person.
- On second thought, if I clean the entire house and then just happen to leave a few papers on the counter it will look like I’m just naturally perfect and pristine and I just casually didn’t bother to clean up my teeny tiny mess. Nailed it.
- Back to the wine…does having wine prepared for his arrival make me look like an alcoholic?
- Is he going to think I’m trying to get him drunk and take advantage of him?
- Do guys ever even think that?
- OH MY GOD what if I look different than he remembers?
- What if he thinks I’m ugly now that I’m pale?
- What if he forgot that my hair feels like straw and then he touches it and can’t help but let out a verbal display of disgust?
- What if he notices this white dot on my arm and is so repulsed he never wants to see or touch me again but can’t change his flight so he is forced to pretend to like me all weekend just to flee back to Seattle on Monday and never talk to me again?
- This is getting slightly dramatic. The clear answer is just to wear long sleeves the entire weekend and then he’ll never notice the dot on my arm anyways.
- If I take him to the pumpkin patch is it too cliché?
- Is it weird that I’ve already planned out the outfits I’m going to wear everyday that he’s here?
- Or that I keep having dreams that said outfits will get lost in my closet and I’ll be left with only stained sweatshirts and flannels?
- Or the reoccurring nightmare that he will lose his passport and I’ll be left crying alone at the airport? Not too over the top anxious right?
- Still can’t decide if wearing heels to pick him up at the airport at 11:30 at night says
“This girl is trying too hard” or not…?
- If I have a panic attack and die before he gets here my dress for the ball will go to waste and no one will ever be able to tell me if I can pull off red.
As you can see it’s all fun and games over here in my little brain. I can’t decide whether or not it’s best to lay off the caffeine for the next 24 hours as a sort of tribute to my mental health or if the withdrawals will be too much in a time of crisis. Please keep reminding me that boys don’t generally fly across the continent just to overanalyze your skin tone and break your heart.