Okay, so now that I've officially been a fiancée for over twenty four hours, I find myself moving from a state of googly-eyed bliss to one of full blown wack-a-do anxiety.
Have you seen the "To Do" list for a wedding?
Why would I be panicked? After all, it's not like this is my first marriage, right? It's true that I have married before but I've never formally sashayed my dimpled bottom down the aisle. Not once have carving stations, wedding programs (are you kidding me?), invitations, groom's cake, flowers, bridal party politics, seating arrangements and honeymoon crossed my radar except in a "you'd-have-to-shoot-me-and-put-me-out-of-my-misery" kind of way. Looking back, it was probably a little of the sour grapes thing.
My first marriage involved the two of us running off to this cheesy chapel for a ten minute service. Neither of our families were there. I wore this absolutely hideous orange coloured sweater that was long enough to brush the tops of my knees along with a pair of skin tight stirrup pants. I looked like a giant Creamsicle. It was only with age that I realized that nothing good happens in any sentence that contains the word, "stirrup".
On the other hand, my betrothed was decked out in a shiny silver suit with a delicate lavender tie that would have made Barney proud. He immediately took issue with the decor (window coverings) and tsk tsked audibly throughout the ceremony. I distinctly remember looking over at him and hearing a quack in my head.
After leaving the chapel, we stopped at our friendly Ralph's grocery store to get a cake, beer for me and wine for the lady him. It was a banner day, all right. The only thing missing was the photograph that we didn't take thereby depriving me of satisfaction I could have gotten from setting it on fire.
Marriage number two was equally breathtaking. Six months after the birth of our son, we were driving home from the hardware store on a Thursday afternoon. He looked over at me and said he thought we ought to get married so as to "make an honest woman" out of me. I think we had been living in Texas for just over a year and to hear that particular southern colloquialism come out of his Yankee mouth caused the diet coke I was consuming to shoot out of my nose. He took that as a yes so off we went to the justice of the peace. After showing our identification and swearing that neither one of us had HIV, I became a Mrs. for the second time. I think I wore shorts and an old Nike tee. We had Kraft macaroni and cheese for dinner that night. Memorable.
It took me several months to tell my mother and any other family member that I had remarried. When I finally got up the courage, Mum didn't say much but kept taking deep, cleansing breaths.
So now, I am determined to have a proper wedding...with a dress and flowers and a reception. I want the fairy tale. I suppose that all this time, something inside of me knew that I needed to save my wedding day for the man I'd grow old with. I'm so glad he finally showed up.
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