I’m getting married again. How do I avoid the pressure to look perfect this time around?

Every time my mom comes across a photo of her own 1984 nuptials, she says the same thing: “Look at how skinny I was!” (Or, sometimes, “Can you believe Daddy wore a white tuxedo with tails?” Which I cannot.) In actuality, I was my worst self: an unwell woman drinking fermented cabbage juice for brea...

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