Apart from developing a more than slight aversion to white tulle, my wedding-day dreams haven't changed too drastically. I care less about my bridesmaids looking like clones and more about if they feel like the fabulous ladies they are. I detest the idea of dyed-to-match purses. I am wearing the same shoes down the aisle that I wore to my high school graduation. Okay, maybe my dreams have changed. Now, twelve years later, I find myself surrounded by textbooks and Bible translations instead of flowers, rolling my eyes at every piece of white tulle in a 2-mile radius while the closest thing I have to doves and ribbon is the swarm of fruit flies that have taken residence in our kitchen, flying away with microscopic crumbs which I like to imagine are heart-shaped.
But I think I've figured out the difference between my fourth-grade fantasies and my present plans. Apart from the fact that I look way better in a wedding dress than a raisin figurine, I used to focus on a wedding...now I'm focusing on a marriage. Everything else may have changed, but I'm still gazing lovingly at my beloved, albeit through the computer screen on our weekly Skype date. The mere thought of being in the same zip code as him, much less the same church vowing to love one another until we drop dead, brings me to tears. So I suppose that's the difference: when I was nine, I dreamed of being Bridal Barbie. At 21, I just dream of being Mrs. Cheshire at the end of the day, preferably having done so in a respectable A-line instead of something that makes me look like I belong on a dessert tray.