I sank down on the most gaudy chair I had ever seen. One that was covered in pale pink fabric with the largest bow I had ever seen hanging off the back. Had I selected this color? This fabric? I could no longer remember.

I was dressed in the most expensive dress I’d ever owned. One for which I paid an obscene amount of money. I mean like obscene, obscene. Small countries could afford universal health care on what I paid for this dress. My hair was pinned up in such an intricate style that there was no way I could replicate it on my own. There were probably a million pins holding it together and it had taken hours of my life to put in place. Not to mention the shoes, the jewelry, and well, everything. I’ve been pinched and poked for the last time. All of which was to be able to say my vows and pledge eternal love to the love of my life in a way that everyone would look at and oooh and ahhh for years. But, looking back, I have no idea what I was thinking. I’m completely exhausted just thinking about all the time and money I (well, we) sunk into the wedding industrial complex. None of it was my choice. All of it was for the sake of saying that we did it and making others happy.

The only thing I was looking forward to was dessert. It was the only thing I had insisted on - all the sweets I could eat. Cake, pie, cookies, the works. After eight months of denying myself those sweet treats that haunted my dreams nightly, for the sake of fitting into that obscenely expensive dress that had to be ordered and altered, I couldn’t so much as touch any of those delicacies. This could have been the greatest hardship of my young life because my sweet tooth is legendary. OK, maybe not my greatest hardship, but this is what weddings can do to a person. Make your thoughts and dreams become so twisted that the lack of a daily sugar fix becomes the center of your world. It’s the only thing you can focus on without going insane. Without breaking down at every moment because who cares about a color scheme, or a seating chart. Who cares if old Uncle Morris and young Uncle Steve can’t sit next to each other. You will have those desserts. I needed those desserts. I wanted those desserts, I deserved those desserts. Forget dinner, the only thing that could satisfy me was the largest, most elaborate dessert buffet that you ever did see. I could not wait.

Except weddings are all about the waiting. There’s so much waiting. Waiting for the hair to be done. Waiting for the dress to be zipped. Waiting for the photographer to place me just right alongside a loved one, an old friend or an old roommate, or heaven forbid a sibling just so, so that the photo can be timeless. And that's before the ceremony. Then there’s the grand entrance where I can see everyone’s impatience at having to wait, as though I'm not the most impatient of them all, to get to the food. The fact that they’ve been able to eat the appetizers I was instructed to serve or sip the drinks that I would kill to get my hands on, while I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting just the right angle makes me all the more irritable. Finally, when I think I’ve finally reached my limit, I have to dance the first dance and air kiss all the relatives that I barely know that had to be invited to my special day. By this point, I can practically hear the sweets calling my name in the soft seductive voice of a lover, the voice of the partner to whom I’ve just committed your life.

Those final steps are the worst. The heels are hurting, my stomach’s growling and I can’t hold out any longer. Only to see that there are no desserts left. I’ve been distracted and delayed for too long.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to run over to the nearest table and perform my best impersonation of a raging demon. How dare they eat my cake, my pie, my cookies. I wanted to howl at the moon. I wanted to tear my hair in mourning. But no, the bride can hardly be that undignified. So, I sulked. Internally of course. And I made plans to stop by the cupcake ATM on our way to our honeymoon. Cupcakes for two. Ah, sweet victory.