What began as a trip to the doctor for foot care — and by doctor and foot care, I mean Island Nail Spa for a mani/pedi — morphed into a court-side seat to a verbal dog and pony show, courtesy of bride Becky. I doubt Becky is actually the bride’s name, but let’s go with it for the purpose of getting this tale told, shall we?

When I arrived at the doctor’s office, bride Becky was in the waiting room mentally gnawing her nails. Beyond thinking she was wearing a cute shirt, I assumed that was end of the story. I had no idea too much information was in my very near future, with the Beckster sharing her life story.

Shortly after I settled in to my comfy patient’s chair for medical treatments, Becky started chatting up her physician technician. In less than 3.75 seconds, I knew Becky was a blushing bride, and within 3.75 minutes, I felt as if I’d known Becky for years and was part of the bridal party. Everyone else within four city blocks knew also, because Becky had a megaphone mouth that measured 7.0 on the Ricther Scale.

Grab a snack, fluff your pillow and kick up your polished, pedicured feet for these TMI highlights:

• Becky hasn’t slept later than 3 a.m. in more than two weeks. In case you missed it the first time: Becky hasn’t slept later than 3 a.m. in more than two weeks. In case you missed it the second time: Becky hasn’t slept later than 3 a.m. in more than two weeks. In case you missed it the third time: Becky hasn’t slept later than 3 a.m. in more than two weeks. Etcetera. Etcetera.

• Despite Becky’s seemingly-familiar-if-not-close relationship with her physician technician, she had no knowledge of shellac nails and questioned if it’s like wearing plastic polish. Oy.

• Becky is leaving for the airport at 6 p.m., and she hasn’t finished packing for her destination wedding, so this 11 a.m. medical appointment is really cramping today’s schedule. But, like you know, who would trust anyone at the destination wedding location to paint wedding nails?

• Becky hasn’t slept later than 3 a.m. in more than two weeks.

• Months and months and even more months of tireless, meticulous attention to detail have gone into wedding planning, and Becky is just so very very Very Very VERY VERY anxious to see how it all comes together, particularly since she’s barely been able to sleep past 3 a.m worrying about it.

• Having had a longer-term relationship just prior to this one with its swept-off-her-high-heeled-feet fairytale ending, Becky found a more suitable suitor 9 precious months ago, and they are marrying on the 9-month anniversary of their first date. All together now: Awwwwwwwwwwww.

• Several of the blushing bride’s friends have bailed on her at the last minute and won’t be in attendance. One friend in particular has become a bee in Becky’s bridal bonnet because it’s VERY. CLEAR. ON. FACEBOOK. that crappy friend Carla can afford to go out partying every night but can’t afford a flight to this dreamy destination wedding. So fine. Friendship over.

• Becky hasn’t slept later than 3 a.m. in more than two weeks.

• The engagement ring is at home because it was just cleaned for the big day. Calling all thieves and robbers: Becky’s ring is at home while she isn’t.

• The nameless hubs-to-be is sitting on Becky’s right during their air travel to the destination unknown, and Aspen is sitting to Becky’s right. How lucky for Becky — and Aspen — that a cheap seat popped up for a $39 one-way ticket. After a rather odd one-way discussion about Aspen, it was clear that Bride Beck had named her wedding gown Aspen. (pause) (longer pause) (even longer pause) I have no clue how one goes about checking in Aspen at the ticket counter and obtaining a boarding pass for cloth, even if it has a name, but let’s wish Becky and Aspen the best of luck. Hopefully Aspen doesn’t have underwires or gel “cutlets” larger than a quart-size Ziploc that cause chaos during the security screening. And let’s be honest that our minds are secretly imagining the ruckus that ensues if Homeland Security pats down Aspen.

• Sunday will be truly special. Becky and groom will wake up in their shared bridal suite and have one last breakfast as single her and single him. *eye roll*

• Becky and Groom Guy have written their own vows. How sweet. Luckily, Becky has easy access to said vows because she typed them on her phone. You are correct: We all got to hear her recite them, with the dramatic touch of a few tears trickling down her blushing bride’s cheek. No joke.

• After a quick recovery from her tears, we move on to a new topic. Oh goodie! Becky has completed her playlist and we get to hear a complete rundown of first dance, father/daughter dance, groom/mother dance, last dance and every other potential dance in between. Wake me up when this is over, will ya?

• Talk about appetizers and cocktail hour and a five-course gourmet meal were almost more than my pre-lunch hunger pangs and I could handle. Guilty as charged: I went directly from the doctor’s office to Beck’s Prime drive-thru. Let’s just call it a reward for surviving TMI, if salad qualifies as a reward.

• Almost pushing me over the proverbial edge was Becky’s discussion about her lingerie. Praise the nuptial heavens that Nordstrom had a pair of panties with “MRS.” spelled out in rhinestones across the rear. Words fail.

Between you and me, I don’t get all the fuss about bridal planning, but that’s just me: the bride that planned her entire wedding in less than 4 hours. I didn’t care about most of the things many brides spend months and months worrying about that lead to sleep-deprived nights with 3 a.m. wake-up calls. My wedding gown most certainly did not have a name, and I didn’t have or want an engagement ring that I’d leave at home because it was clean.

If all this wedding chatter isn’t enough to make Buffy bitchy, I don’t know what is…only Buffy isn’t bitchy because Becky’s dreams are coming true. Her prince awaits on Sunday at the end of the destination wedding aisle, and crappy Carla can just stay home with her credit card and party the weekend away by herself. And Becky? Well, she’ll finally get some sleep, a new last name and a darn good reason to wear rear end rhinestones that spell Mrs.

And let’s agree that no one — NO ONE — wants to hear the details in a few years about the next big event in Becky’s life: childbirth.