Alison Berkley: The Princess’s Palate
Well, kitty cats, this is the last column I’ll be writing as Alison Berkley.
Yep, that’s right. By this time next week I’ll be Mrs. Ryan Margo. I might keep my byline the same, but still. I am totally going to change my name and can’t wait. I have lots of friends who didn’t change their names and I don’t get it. Isn’t that the whole point, to start a family? What if everyone had always run around with their own names? I for one can’t wait to have a whole new identity.
It turns out I’m not as big of a feminist as I once thought.
I can’t wait to become the Missus. I even have an apron – it’s a designer apron that’s made to look like a dress, but still. My mom’s friend BJ gave it to me for my bridal shower gift and I love it. Maybe it’s a sign of progress. Maybe us girls have come so far that the idea of being a wife is a novel one. I for one and very excited about my new role and plan to take it on with more gusto and enthusiasm than anything else I’ve ever done in my whole spoiled little life.
I definitely feel a shift in my consciousness that’s caught me a little bit off guard.
For starters, I no longer recognize the person I was before I met Ryan. I feel like I’ve become the parent of the person I was, and that person was an unruly teenager who I’m pretty disappointed in and ashamed of. You can try grounding her, taking away her car, disconnecting her personal phone line, or even shipping her off to private school, but no matter what you do, she’s still going to be puking in the bathroom the following day on account of drinking vodka straight out of the bottle, or maybe mixing Captain Morgan and OJ, which is never a good idea.
The thing is, as I got older, the adolescent impulses got stronger and my behavior got worse. I was as immature as I was in high school, only now I had the money and the freedom to really run with it and find all kinds of trouble to get into. Oh, sure, my friends tried to stop me. They tried to reason with me. On a few occasions, they even threatened to walk out on me. Nothing worked.
Then one day, everything changed just like that. What’s really annoying about that is my friends always said it would. Sarah would always say, “You just never know, your life could change tomorrow. That special guy could be right around the next corner.”
And I’d get super annoyed and go, “Yeah, right. You’ve been telling me that for the last TEN YEARS.”
It was definitely an I-told-you-so moment when I met Ryan.
Speaking of which, our wedding is only a few days away and I’m trying to figure out what to do for our vows. It might sound strange, coming from a writer, but for the first time in my life I honestly feel like words don’t seem to suffice. It almost seems trite to actually say things like, “I promise to love you forever.” I mean, do I even need to say it?
The truth is I felt like I married Ryan the moment we met. Yes, I know that sounds like psycho girl talk and is exactly the kind of thing that scares the crap out of most men, but it’s true. I almost feel like getting up there on the altar and going, “Well, duh! Of course I do!”
We’re definitely down to the wire and as I write this, Ryan is parading around the house in a new outfit he bought for the rehearsal dinner. Living with him these last few days has been like living with a hyperactive 10-year-old. Wedding causes stress for most people, but not Ryan. His latest thing has been to call his parents and keep them on the phone for an hour while he plays songs on his computer and bangs on the countertops and sings at the top of his lungs. It’s as if he just needs to make noise for anyone who will listen.
Of course I’m like a chicken with my head cut off, which is why it’s 6 p.m. and I’m still writing this column that was due an hour ago. The last few days I’ve done things like buy birch tree branches from the Aspen Branch at the ABC (They told me the biggest budget wedding they did this summer was $200k! Can you imagine having that kind of money and then spending it on a party?). I had every pimple, blemish, red spot, bump, and imperfection in my face popped, sanded, acidified, and even electrified (“to get rid of impurities” she said) by Valentina at European Skin Care who managed to turn my teenage skin into, well, better skin. I bought vases at the thrift store and sat around with my girlfriends making reception decor. And somewhere in there I went to a bunch of yoga classes (thank you to my yoga family for keeping me sane during all this and helping me get my girlish figure back right in time) and bought yet another pair of designer jeans at Boogie’s.
So you might understand why I’m a bit scattered and why it’s been a bit of a challenge to sit at my computer and get this thing done. But it is easy to bid Alison Berkley adieu. I can’t wait to become Mrs. Margo.
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