How To Look Like a Freak In Front of Your Decorator 101

My vacation to California was very productive, if not relaxing. I spent one full day there, in which I met my caterer, florist, hairdresser, decorator, and the cake people (is there a name for that? A more official name?). I ADORE my caterer and florist, they were incredibly kind, accommodating, and reassuring. They were so prepared and took my ideas to new levels, which was great. My hairdresser was amazing, as always, and a new haircut always gives me such a confidence boost. I went to Nadia's Cakes, which have delicious, stylish cakes, and they were also very open to ideas and incredibly helpful (I love free samples!).
Then. . . the decorator. I'm sure she's very competent. I've seen other weddings she's done, and they've been beautiful. But. . . those centerpieces! So hideous! Like the Relief Society centerpieces from heck! The flowers were obviously very old and very fake, in garish colors that I despised. The draping arrangement was in a silver vase that was over a foot and a half tall with a weird modern kink in it, like a lightning bolt in shape (kinda). I tried to kindly say that I hated every inch of it. When she asked me to describe what I DID like, I stumbled over a short monologue about liking vintage and classy looks, but I wasn't sure what I wanted exactly (Isn't that what we're paying HER for? If I knew what I wanted, I wouldn't need to hire someone, doy.) She stared at me blankly as I rambled, not saying anything. The silence freaked me out a bit, so I looked to Mom for reassurance. Her worried eyebrows freaked me out even more and I said multiple times, "...Does that make sense?" . . . "Yes. I'm just trying to think." She finally responded. Okie dokie. Apparently my taste is unfathomable.
Then she went on to tell me my colors sucked. Well, okay, not word-for-word, but she said I needed to add another color or it would basically look blah. "Okay, can you give me an example?" I said, not looking her in the eye anymore because I could feel the tears building up. Oh crap, oh crap, not here! "Well, a pink or a lavender or blue. . ." I didn't like the sound of any of those. Don't you dare start crying in front of this woman, Julia, don't you dare! "What about the color on the roses?" I choked out, wiping away tears by this point. The roses I picked out are buttercream yellow with a rusty reddish-brown tint on the edges, which I think gives them an old look, which I adore. She affirmed that the color would be acceptable, but I'd melted down by this point. I'm not sure if I was just exhausted from all the meetings I had gone to that day, or if it was her flat, emotionless voice, or maybe how weirded out I was by those hideous centerpieces, but I seriously lost it. I was sobbing, hyperventilating more than I ever had in my life, trying to choke out between breaths that I was sorry and I wasn't sure why I was so upset. My mom laughed loudly, a nervous reflex as I tried to shrug out of my jacket. I felt so suffocated.
"It's normal for brides to be stressed, don't worry about it." She said in the same flat voice. All I wanted to do was run to my room and slam the door shut, but I wouldn't be able to face her ever again if I looked like THAT much of a Bridezilla. Not that I made that great an impression as it was. Yeesh. I hate crying in front of anyone, let alone scary decorators that I just met. With ugly centerpieces.
I'm sure it'll be fine. Really. My mom called her the next day and told her all the things I wanted that I hadn't been able to choke out that night, including that the florist would do the centerpieces. According to Mom, the decorator sounded relieved. Heck, she'd prolly be relieved if Mom told her we decided to fire her. Who wants to work with a hyperventilating mess who can't handle being told that she needs to add another color to her wedding? I'm sure she'll do a great job in draping whatever needs to be draped and iron what needs to be ironed and all that jazz. And as long as that keeps my family from doing that stuff and my mother acts as the go-between with the decorator and me, I'm fine with that. As long as I get to do those dang centerpieces.