50 DAYS

In 50 days, I will be a married woman.

In 50 days, I no longer have to worry about my weight. I will eat only chocolate, cakes, and french fries... wait... make that poutine. I will have to be wheeled to the local Scrub n' Shine for my weekly washing.

In 50 days I can stop wearing makeup... or doing my hair... or even getting dressed in the morning. I could live in pyjamas, and in fact I might.

In 50 days I can stop shaving or plucking all hair on my body. My eyebrows will be twin caterpillers of neglect. My legs shall be a tribute to the rainforests of B.C., thick and lush. My armpits may cause scientists to believe they've found the missing link.

In 50 days, all bets are off buddy, and you're stuck with me.