I considered writing a column about my wedding vows this week, but I was interrupted by a throw pillow flying by my face.

I wanted to talk about the writing process and how it felt to pour my heart out onto a piece of paper (and by “piece of paper,” I mean “keyboard and monitor”). I wanted to write about how good I’m sure they’ll make my future wife feel about herself and our upcoming marriage.

Then another throw pillow flew by.

Getting married isn’t easy.

Well, the marriage itself is easy. All the planning and stuff beforehand is the hard part.

On Oct. 29, I’ll say my vows and sign on the dotted line. Yes, believe it or not, there’s someone out there crazy enough to marry me.

My concern isn’t about whether or not the marriage will last, rather will I be alive by the time the date rolls around.

The stress sucks, sure, but I’m more concerned about the object whizzing by my head every few hours.

I’ve tried making nice suggestions to help out. For example, I suggested I wear a mohawk for the wedding instead of getting a real haircut.

She didn’t like that. Go figure.

As bakers and DJ’s back out, my fiancee has grown more and more frustrated. That means my role switches from loving, helpful soon-to-be husband to human punching bag.

Each mini-crisis that’s popped up has been one easily fixed, but in the heat of the moment, she seems to think the world is coming to an end.

I always thought if the world was ending, I’d want to spend it with my loved ones. I guess she’d rather throw things at them.

In any event, the final payments and arrangements are being put into place. With any luck, I can stop dodging flying household items by week’s end.