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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