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Halfway between my engagement day and my wedding date I had a realization: I was probably a dream bride from the male perspective, but for my mother, female in-laws-to-be, girlfriends, aunts and little girls...I left a lot to be desired.

For example, three months out from the nuptials, I had yet to pick my dress.

Apparently, I was supposed to have done that already. Instead, I was stewing about the Spotify playlist. We were getting married in Nashville, aka "Music City"-home to world-renowned artists, a few of whom were invited to the big day. So you see, there was quite a bit of pressure about the music.

Being a "mature" bride certainly had its advantages. For starters, I'd run enough businesses to understand that weddings are a business. I'd be darned if I was going to fall prey to all of the wedding industry nonsense. I've got your numbers, people, and we are on a budget. In other words: no, I would not be hiring a videographer or a person to fluff my wedding dress train, and I certainly wouldn't be spending two thousand dollars on the world's best red velvet cake, as tempted as I was to do so.

Secondly, I didn't really believe in perfection anymore (it only took 40 years), so I was perfectly satisfied with "good enough." This acceptance of the status quo made decisions about things like dinnerware and centerpieces much less anxiety-provoking.

Disposable forks? Yes, please.

Bamboo throw-away plates? Most definitely.

Photos of my groom and I as children in our best 70s and 80s gear strewn across the reception tables? Ohhh yeeeeaaah.

But when I had this realization about my less than ideal bridedom-which happened to be over Thanksgiving-I made a pact with myself. I would attempt to be a little less stoic than usual when it came to my wedding. My stoicism worked in some instances: when negotiating with a car dealer, for example. In other instances, it made me seem aloof or ungrateful. Not exactly what I was going for. It's not that I wasn't over the moon about getting married to a handsome, patient, Costco-loving human (did I mention he also cooks and does laundry?)-I just wasn't interested in being the center of a fuss.

To put it bluntly: I was much less excited about saying "Yes" to the dress and much more pleased that he said "Yes" to the mess.

Once he proposed, I constantly battled that annoying, nagging voice in the back of my head:

You're not 25 anymore, remember? Your crows feet will likely show up in wedding portraits, so it's probably best to go with far away shots. And no matter what anyone says to your face, they are likely all thinking the same thing: I wonder what took her soooo lonnnnng to find someone?

I contemplated that last question while sipping a very yummy glass of Cabernet poured by my husband-to-be, who had just prepared a delicious meal for us. The present scene quickly dispelled the doubts and muffled that little voice.

So perhaps, after all, I was perfectly entitled to focus my attention on things other than what I'd be wearing on my wedding day. And it was okay to simply accept that my excitement came from less fussy things-like the fact that I found a loving partner who met me in the throes of grief, while my features du jour were running mascara and short-term memory lapses, and he still said: "I like her just the way she is. Mess and all."

-Rebekah Iliff

Rebekah Iliff is a business and humor writer based in Nashville, Tennessee. Her work has appeared in Inc, Entrepreneur, Forbes, The Satirist, Little Old Lady Comedy, HuffPost Comedy, and the Weekly Humorist. For more information visit: www.rebekahiliiff.com