The Ice Bride

I feel very Dickens-esque at the moment. I'm wearing long underwear under two sweaters, a hat, and scarf while I sit here typing. I've been writing all morning in abject pain - not just the pain of being uninspired, but of being damnably cold. Our landpeople emailed j. last night to say they were just turning on the heat now and to let them know if we were cold. I will not relate here what j. suggested writing back to them, as it is not suitable for a family audience, but needless to say we've been freezing our little tushes off and being the polite people we were raised to be, also nonconfrontational, and highly conscious of current events (hello, gas prices), we're not about to complain just yet. I'm going to keep drinking my tea and hope that when they say they are turning on the heat "now," they mean today and that it is going to come on shortly.

Being so cold, I'm really looking forward to standing around naked today for another dress shopping appointment. I saw the most beautiful and perfect dress in the window at Adrienne's. I'm afraid it a) won't look good on me and b) will be way out of my price range (very, very likely). Silly to stress over it so much before hand, but it's what I'm good at.

Also, was it such a great idea to schedule our wedding for the end of September in Maine? I'm going to be the ice bride. My goosebumps will be so big you'll be able to see them in the photographs. What does the dress matter when I'm going to have to find a white down jacket to cover it up with anyway?