Stages of Bridal Thanksgiving Grief

This is comin' atcha a little later. Sorrs.

Twas the night before Thanksgiving, and all through the house, everyone was drooling over tomorrow's turkey and gravy and post-meal stretch pants (or no pants?)

Everyone except for me.

Why, you ask? Because in 6 months I'll be photographed approximately 3,000 times. Fellow brides, back me up here. It's the only day of my entire life when I'll see more flashing lights than every Kardashian combined, and I'm expected to frame these pictures and oogle over them for the rest of my existence.

Plus I may or may not have fibbed about my measurements while ordering my dress. Turns out 2 inches is kind of a big deal (who knew?)

But don't worry about my waistline. I have a strategy, people. Have you ever heard of the stages of grief? This situation is no different. I intend to mourn just the way any grieving person would properly go about these things, so in the words of a true fat kid masquerading as a thin bride, here we go.

Stage 1: Complaint Assault aka "Why Me?"

But I LOVE stuffing! But I LOVE sweet potato casserole! It's only socially acceptable to eat pumpkin pie during a very narrow window of time each year and I have a long, deep-seeded passion with this autumnal calorie bomb. Plus what if I never get to taste its nutmeggy magic ever again? Why is life so hard?

Stage 2: Positive [Skeptical] Self-Talk 


I can do this, I can do this! I can do this? I can do this.

Step 3: Masochistic Imaginary Torture

If I can't eat stuffing, I'll pretend to eat stuffing. It's delicious. BUTTER

Step 4: Pretend Everything Tastes Really, Really Bad

Step 5: Forfeiture/Acceptance of Food Coma

Aka .... I'll just go to the gym tomorrow.

You win some, you lose some. Eat up, friends.