I'm starting to panic. Not about my choice of groom or gown or what is Plan B if we are cursed with a hurricane on the wedding day. With four months to go, I still feel in control of my expanding "to-do" list, which includes finding silver slippers for bridesmaids, writing our vows, printing invitations and learning to dance.

   Of all things, here's what's got me in a snit: How are we going to dispose of all the "gift garbage", i.e., the cardboard boxes, wrapping paper and Styrofoam packing popcorn that will soon be arriving en masse to our door? They are coming in drips and drabs already, wrapped around delicate decanters and vases. I'm braced for the avalanche.

   I know, I know — straight to hell for that one. Could I be more ungrateful? Friends of our parents I barely know go to great trouble to buy and mail us something to celebrate our marriage and start a home, and here I am, whining about the refuse. This is what happens to brides. They begin to believe the entire world revolves around their petty concerns. They become selfish and spoiled. That's me.

   At first I thought registering for gifts would be as fun as a trip to the moon. Shopping without paying, how great does that sound? Our first afternoon of it was a lesson in homemaking. Jake was armed with a gun to electronically zap our choices onto our list, and I dragged us around the store, pointing out what a proper kitchen really "needed."

   Without a plan, we haphazardly picked out some bakeware, cooking tools, a few pots and pans and then realized we hadn't made a dent. What about highball glasses and champagne flutes, a toaster, bath towels, sheets, not to mention china and silverware? How many, what color? Wait a minute, do we really need all this stuff? We don't exactly live like monks, but there's freedom in not owning so much stuff.

   On the other hand, guests will buy us presents no matter what, so we might as well earmark what we want. This is our big chance, right? Logic like this makes me a little queasy.

   The hardest thing for me about being engaged is that there are so many material distractions. It can be rather dreamy planning the perfect place setting, but it can take away from the focus on love and commitment. Then again, every time I unwrap a gift, I am delighted and touched by the gesture. It's a reminder that friends are thinking of us and wishing us well on our new start.

   It is our big chance — to be the recipients of such generosity. That's hard to beat, no matter how much packing material surrounds it. When I'm not overwhelmed about picking out our new wares, I'm secretly thrilled at the idea of tossing out our mismatched, plastic-handled silverware and wiping my mouth with a linen napkin. But I also realize that it won't make us any more or less happy together. I just don't want to become any more spoiled than I already am.