I took down the mirrors in my bedroom years ago. I could only tolerate seeing bits of me at a time, something left over from my extremely self conscious high school days.

To this day, the mirror that’s supposed to be attached to my dresser sits on the floor facing the wall. I climb up on my bathtub rim to see how my skirts fall and whether my shoes match. I walk while I brush my teeth. I finger comb my hair in the tiny, horizontal rearview mirror in the truck.

So, it was startling seeing all of me in the dressing room mirror as I tried on wedding dresses: Plain little me in these gorgeous dresses. I suddenly found myself wanting the fairytale.

I want the hair, the smile, the face to go with the dress. I want what Cinderella got.

Lacking in fairy godmothers, I’ve formed a plan. I’m calling it my “Make me pretty” plan. I’ve got 7 1/2 months to get there.

Today, I got my hair cut at a salon. (It’s the first time I’ve done so since I was 12.) Friday, I’m whitening my teeth. And I’m recruiting Grendel, my dog, to help me lose inches.

Don’t get me wrong; I know it’s what’s inside that counts. And my insides kick ass. I like myself. I just want myself pretty. For one day. That’s all I’m going for.

Don’t make me over. Just make me pretty.

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