'The Best Day of Your Life' (Part One)

“It's time to get up!” said the overly excited voice that boomed from my doorway.
“What?” I mumbled from under my particularly comfortable cocoon of a duvet that I had nested myself into and squeezing my eyes shut.
“It's time to get up Maria, you're getting married today!” shrieked the voice.
“Just go away” I pleaded while fighting to stave away the feeling of awakeness that was taking over me.
“I'm coming in!” Mum said as light filled my otherwise cave like room, confirming that she had indeed opened the door and that I didn't have a choice but to do as I was told and get up, but I still didn't move. Mum had always been the most pushy, over excited person, which was good in some situations, but I wasn't in the mood for it today, especially not so early.
“It's eight o'clock, you need to start getting ready. You can start by getting a good, hearty breakfast inside of you.” She said while clawing my covers off me. Now I was fully awake and in a foul mood.
“I'm going downstairs to cook your breakfast. You can start getting ready, you look like death warmed up! I told you not to drink last night didn't I?”
“I didn't drink anything, I just look like shit because SOMEONE woke me up early when we don't have to be at the church for another six hours!” I was grumpy before, but now I was angry. Not only does she wake me up early, but she also tells me I look awful, what kind of a mother would say that to their daughter on their wedding day?
“Just do as you're told! It'll be ready in fifteen minutes so in the meantime I suggest you have a shower and I'll bring it up to you.” She said, walking from my bed into the landing.
“Okay fine.” I said sighing as I sat up in bed.
She was just about to walk down the stairs when she turned again and said softly, “This is meant to be the happiest day of you're life, I know you're nervous about your dad but it will be alright.” Her facial expression changed to one of sincerity as she was looking at me. Mum was the only person who always knew exactly what I was feeling, even when I hadn't even realised it yet. She walked back from the landing and came and sat next to me on the edge of the bed.
“I'm very proud of you, you know.” She said as she put her arm around me and pulled my face closer to hers.
“I know, thanks mum.”
And with that she was up again. That was another thing about my mum, she could only be emotional and sincere for a certain amount of time and then it would be back to being her normal bossy self and the moment was over.
“Fifteen minutes!” She shouted from downstairs. The sound of the BBC Radio 2 jingle echoed up the stairs and I knew that she was now in her element.

I was very tempted to go back to sleep as I sat there and looked longingly at my pillow and then realised that the next time I would be going to sleep I would be a married woman. The desire to go back to sleep quickly faded after this thought and panic set in. I walked into my bathroom and the floor tiles were so cold I snapped my foot away as if it were scolding hot water. I stood outside the shower and turned the water on and let it run until I could feel that it was hot enough. I jumped in, letting the water run over me and awaken me. It felt so warm and comforting and then all of a sudden,
“AHHHH” I exclaimed, the water had turned to ice cold in an instant.
“TURN THE WATER OFF!” I shouted as I jumped back so hard that I banged my head. 'That's all I need' I thought as I massaged the area, there wasn't a bump thank God.
“Sorry” Murmured from downstairs.
My angry mood had returned as I had to cautiously wash my hair, so as not to aggravate my sore head. I rinsed my hair and stepped out of the shower, once again recoiling my foot at the sharp coldness of the tiles. I crept to my bathrobe and put it on, making a satisfied sound as it wrapped around my wet body. I walked out into my bedroom and appreciated the warm carpet as it comforted my cold feet. I walked over to my dressing table, which was near my window, and gazed out at the dark, rain filled clouds. Sighing, I turned my attention instead to my reflection. My mother was right, I did look like death, although the tribal like smeared mascara down my face didn't help. It certainly wasn't waterproof like the fancy packaging had claimed, I looked like a sad clown. I seized my make-up remover wipes from the drawer and began to urgently remove the grey colour that ran from my eyes to my jaw line, rubbing viciously and making my skin red. This was an improvement at least as I didn't look so deathly, otherwise people wouldn't be able to tell where my white dress ended and I began.

Once every resonance of mascara had been removed, I inspected my make-up free face. I had never been a natural beauty, nor had I been resoundingly ugly but I had promised George that I wouldn't wear a lot of make-up because he says I always look better without it. I may have to break that promise if I don't want people to think that there is a corpse instead of a bride walking down the aisle and that it was some sort of sick funeral. It seems my face had decided to finally begin to show the effects of my twenty seven years of living. There were distinct lines on my forehead, probably from frowning too much because of the stress of the wedding. Luckily, I didn't have smile lines and probably never would since I was always being told that I don't smile enough. I have a naturally grumpy expression because I have very low bearing eye brows so I physically have to lift them in order to appear happy, which then takes me from grumpy to shocked looking. It was mainly my dad who asked me to smile more, probably because I generally appeared the most grumpy or annoyed around him.