I’m rather proud to admit that I did two rather audacious things in the past few days. 1) I got up on stage, stood behind a microphone, and told a story about myself for seven minutes. 2) I bought a wedding dress. Which do you think had me freaking out more?

I’m surprised to admit that it was the buying of the dress that really had me somewhat crazed. And it’s funny because that’s not what I was expecting… on either count. You see, if you’re a girl, and you’re buying a wedding dress, that means you’re told over and over again that you’ll know when it’s the one. Like there’s this blissful halo that comes and alights upon your head and angels start singing and you can imagine yourself walking down the aisle and this it IT.

And if you’re a girl and you’re going up on stage to tell a story about a time when you had a Homeland Security job you hated, that means you’re told that it will be hard, and you’ll get nervous, and you might freak out. Perhaps you’ll start sweating.

The surprise was that the storytelling wasn’t hard. I can’t say I did the best job, or that I’m ready to do this full time. But I didn’t forget my lines or stumble. I found it harder to strip down to my skivvies and stand in a mirrored room with a complete stranger and my mom (in my socks, of course) and shimmy into dresses. And to be honest, standing at the mic gives you a bit of a buzz. Not quite a halo really, but close.

So imagine my thought process when I try on “the dress.” Immediate thought: FUN. Then: Ruffles! Then: Oh my god, I love a dress that’s covered in ruffles. And when people ask me what it looks like I have to explain that it’s tiers and tiers of ruffles. And they’re going to imagine me in a horrible mess of a dress, and I’m going to start worrying what people think, and then I’m going to start thinking it’s a horrible mess of a dress. But really, who cares?! Ruffles!

You see where this is going.

I have to admit that a sly smile crept onto my face the moment I put it on. And then a look of horror, as a huge, 15 foot veil, with a large ruffled edge, was attached to my head. This was no halo. It was the dress shop clerk, who, for a giggle, had brought out the matching veil, which she fully admitted was completely ridiculous. It made me look as though I was marrying a conquistador. Not exactly what I had in mind. But she took it off and I started swaying in it, side to side, and then I put on some shoes, and another, better veil, and then there was champagne and suddenly I had a dress.