Remember Slip’n Slides?
Marketed as: an active summer activity that is fun and refreshing. Perhaps akin to sledding, for those of us who are Children of the North.
Actually is: a really stellar way to get some sort of friction burn on your face, a machine for causing instantaneously shattered ankles, and a huge waste of water.
Earlier this week I was lamenting to Aaron that the stress of wedding planning was starting to build a tiny bit and I was doing everything I could to keep it under control. He asked if I was feeling out of control and I said, “I guess not, but it feels like it could be right around the corner. Like a Slip’n Slide.”
Here’s what I mean.
First let me set the stage as to what kind of Slip’n Slide we are talking about, because if you are a child of the 70s or 80s, a Slip’n Slide was just a tarp with a hose hook up. But if you were a child of the 90s, you remember a much more exciting self-hurtling experience that included more ways to get your swimsuit caught (like on the water-spraying arches), more ways to bust out all your teeth (like on the ‘bumper’ before the big pool of water), and more ways to spread waterborne illnesses amongst children with questionable hygiene habits (see big pool of water previously mentioned). For purposes of this comparison, the Slip’n Slide I am thinking of is the
death trap toy of the 90s variety.
A Slip’n Slide is tempting. Sooooo tempting. It looks fun, it looks refreshing, the bright colors make it look down-right inviting. Wedding planning, and most specifically just completely losing control, also seems inviting. After all, everyone is all, “Kate it’s your day, do whatever you want!” I have yet to actually use the phrase “It’s my day!” to justify getting what I want or being rude to someone, though when the salon suggested I drag my bridal carcass to them by 8AM on the morning of my wedding, I considered using it. In fact, the pause over the phone was so long while I deliberated that it became uncomfortable until I just said, “What do you have around 9:30?”
But here’s the truthiest truth about the Slip’n Slide and getting out of control in wedding planning: you can’t go halfway. There is no dabbling in the crazy, just as there is no ‘dipping your toes in’ to the Slip’n Slide. If you go, you are going to fly down that scratchy plastic tarp at Mach speeds causing friction burns on every exposed patch of skin. Crazy will rain down on you from all sides as you barrel through the hoops of spraying water, until you finally mash your face into the ‘bumper’ before launching yourself into a pool of ‘completely outside your mind.’ Once I lose control in the wedding planning process, I am going to find myself ass over tea-kettle in an inflatable pool filled with lukewarm insanity. Probably getting some brain-eating protozoa, because standing water plus children ALWAYS equals disease. Always.
Of course, you don’t always make it to the bottom of the Slip’n Slide. Sometimes the water hoop things tear your swimsuit across the butt and you have to go inside. Sometimes you crack a rib/ankle/face and have to leave on a stretcher. Either way, if I get on the Slip’n Slide of Wedding Planning Insanity, I lose my mind or I suffer great bodily harm.
I am working diligently to avoid the Wedding Planning Slip’n Slide. For my own safety, for the safety of those around me, and because so far the planning has been so blissful and fun. I don’t want to be ‘that bride,’ even if people do think it is justifiable due to stress. But it’s really not justifiable to lose your cool over a big giant party you are throwing for yourself. That seems awfully egocentric, no?
I will not get on the Slip’n Slide. I will not dive head first into a pool of crazy. I will be cool and calm. A chill bride. The chillest bride.
As soon as I can get these goggles off.