8. early morning juice and hairspray

At 8 in the morning, my cousin Tara walks in. Hairsprays, curlers, straighteners, bobby-pins, a huge awesome purse and a cup of Timmies in her hands.

She looks at me.

"Shit. I forgot to get you something."

We then start giggling hysterically.

"You shit," I say, pushing her then pulling her in for a hug. Tara and I are complete opposites and so much alike. She's my cousin, the one I grew up with. She's wild and fun and free spirit and so damn cool without even trying and I'm a person who makes five-year-plans and savings accounts and doodles. We laugh some more and get down to business.

There's no pressure, at least not for me. I'm sure Tara was more worried about it than I. We had done a trial run a few days prior and it had turned out great, so I was calm.

It was quiet, aside from our rez playlist on the iPod and our chatting. We talked about babies and boys, husbands versus boyfriends, growing up and being an adult yet still feeling like a kid, our family and the drama that would happen that night.

It was calm. It was me and one of my best friends. It was perfect.

At the end, an hour later, my hair was curled and styled, not to move the rest of the night. I was feeling happy and Tara was relieved it was done, I'm sure. We hugged again and she left, off to do her own hair and makeup in the next hour or so.

I looked around and realizes that there was no one to help me tie up my dress or corset, and that I had forgotten my toothbrush and toothpaste at Diana's the night before.

Damnit.