Bridezilla

As a new bride-to-be I can totally see
How one can become a wedding banshee.
Read ye this now, before it's too late,
And the chance of your becoming one may abate.

There's still almost a year before having the fear
Of forgetting my tissues to wipe a stray tear
Whilst at the altar, pledging my love,
Conveniently forgetting I've been less than a dove.

"Start with a place," all my married friends say,
So I look for one that is available on the day
That we want to be wed, and I call and and I state,
"I am planning ahead, can I visit [this date]?"

Then I have a bad day in an even worse week,
And I'm calling the groom (it's like Hide-and-go-seek).
I fuss and I wait and I pout and I call,
"I'm sorry, can't make it, the groom is AWOL."

I leave Him a mean message: "I'm glad you're not dead.
I've cancelled our meeting. I've gone home instead."
I slam down the phone and I try not to cry;
His legs I will break! His balls I will fry!

I make it home (barely) without flipping out,
But I throw myself down on the bed and I shout
In my head, "What a prick!" Then I sob for this day
Of horrendous occurrences, and nerves on the fray.

And then He arrives, tired, with no money,
Because snow in Ontario makes people funny.
They forget how to drive, or perhaps never knew
That in winter, IT SNOWS, and turns roads to goo.

"Traffic was horrible," says He, the soul of calm,
"And I tried my best to get here"; His voice, a soothing balm.
"I just spent all my money on a taxi, for us two,
So we could check this place out, and have time for me and you.
And then I get this message through the driver's borrowed phone
Telling me I'm a jerk and that tonight I'm all alone."

It really makes you wonder if the planning's worth the while
When it has a way of turning one into a shrieking, surly child.
We murmur our apologies, and go to bed and hope
That we'll have the strength to do this, and not to just elope.