My best friend is getting married next year. I'm so incredibly happy for her; Amy has been with John for years now, and they're both looking forward to being married.

Unfortunately, the wedding itself is leaving Amy cold. It's understandable; she and her family have gone through some really tough times, both recently and in her "ancient history," and it's taken its toll on her. She's nervous about creating new family stresses in the preparation for the wedding. She's fighting to overcome feelings of depression and can't quite work up any enthusiasm over tiny bags of birdseed. She's busy with school and work and has no spare time to devote to bridal books. The happy couple have recently been entertaining fond thoughts of quicky weddings in Vegas, but dread the familial disappointment and hurt feelings that would ensue.

Eric and I remember our wedding planning fondly, and so I have to try hard to cover up my own feelings of dismay toward her situation. When we got engaged ourselves, we decided that since our families were geographically distant, we would plan and celebrate the wedding in our own locale: our college town. We did almost everything ourselves, and had the time of our lives. I swear, I'd never before seen a man get so involved with crystal patterns.

I remember the day we bought my wedding dress. A friend tipped us off to one of those dress sales at David's Bridal, and we hopped in the car and took off, cash in hand. It was one of those dramatic scenes, with women screaming and crying, ripping dresses out of each other's hands. Our saleslady disappeared after helping me into a single dress, so Eric and I established a routine; he would go off into the store, pulling every dress he could find in my size. I would try on the dresses, and he helped me pick out the best one.

(Anecdote: when I was wearing a particular dress, a woman ran up to me in tears, saying, "That's MY dress!" Turned out she had been at the store for over nine hours and had finally found the dress of her dreams, only to have a clueless saleslady return it to the racks while the poor girl was changing into her street clothes.)

When the wedding was over, we felt so satisfied with ourselves that we actually entertained writing our own wedding planner software. It never materialized, but it was a pleasant thought.

Amy's not getting the same joy out of this that we did. We started setting dates and appointments the weekend after we got engaged; they've been engaged for almost a year and haven't yet set a wedding date. I know it's not because they're not serious about getting married. It's just that the idea of planning a huge ceremony, then a large gala, doesn't seem all that important to them.

It did to us. We had very good reasons for making this event central to our lives. First, the ceremony was important, but that's a given. We wanted as beautiful a setting as possible to commemorate our vows; we wanted to be able to look back on the day and not be distracted from the true meaning by lasting regrets. Second, we had the valid suspicion that our wedding would be one of the last times for all of our friends to be together at once. Our wedding was a beginning for us, but an end for our tightly-knit circle of friends. One by one, we've all left Morgantown for our own careers. The pictures taken of us dancing and laughing at the reception are priceless.

The wedding was very much a celebration of us. The music, the ceremony, the food - we tailored it all to create the evening we'd always wanted. At the end, we were exhausted, but elated. And that's not even counting the honeymoon!

Amy has some ideas as to what kind of wedding will best suit the two of them. They sound super! Right now there are too many outsiders trying to sculpt Amy's wedding, well-meaning though they may be. Her current problems generating with enthusiasm, I guess, are hampering her ability - or desire - to stop them. I hope Amy can find a way to tell them all to buzz off before they wreck the beautiful day she deserves to have!