The jiffy part extended to grabbing makeup in a matter of a few minutes.  But beyond that existed the longest line ever with the slowest cashier in the history of man at the helm, wearing a tag with ironically the shortest name ever, Ed.  Time ticked faster than my heartbeat; while shoppers reveled in my bridal woe-glow.  Once I reached Ed, I wasn’t up for even miniscule talk.  But he was up for that and more.  And so, again, I listened.  Perhaps there’s a lesson in all of this, my soul said.

But probably not, I thought once I reached the hotel.  I sprinted upstairs, and in ten minutes, I lathered my face, reapplied makeup, and flattened the bouffant.  Then, I threw on the creamy sundress.  Stood before the full-length mirror.  Still, I looked like a foreigner in my skin.  But there wasn’t a spare moment to lament it.  

Instead, Tommy and I hustled to our rental car and proceeded to drive to our sunset wedding locale.  Now, the weather forecast had called for clear skies and warmth.  But, voilà, Mother Nature’s sense of humor heightened.  From out of nowhere, sand blew frenetic as my thoughts.  Blasted the window.  In fact, a storm–freakish and glorious all at once–blessed me.  With it came intense rain, cleansing all worry.  Authenticity belly-laughed.

This would not be my wedding day.  Indeed, the nuptials were canceled.  And as we spoke with our minister, she let us know that a storm as such had never happened before in her long history of marrying couples.

Deep down, of course, I wondered if the sore weather gusted as an omen.