Okay, technically 5 years and 346 days, give or take a handful of hours.
I never, ever, ever thought we’d be able to have the wedding of our dreams. I had long ago resigned to the fact that marriage would be a legal affair, some signing of paperwork. But the rigmarole of the big dress and the catering hall and the $120 plates was a foregone conclusion. Neither of us had a Great Aunt Maude that could cut us a check for 50 racks so we could go full Lawng Island and throw an all inclusive nuptial. Two poor kids from two different corners of the same state fell in love and were a little misguided on the successes they would fall into post-grad. We had a ring and some dreams and more student loan debt and that was about it.
Marriage has thankfully never been the concern; James has been my husband for the better part of the last decade. But I was born under a Leo sun, of course I’d love for a chance to have a bonus day of the year all about me.
(And unlike my birthday, at least for my wedding I’d be willing to share. It’s not been scientifically proven yet, but there’s evidence I ate my twin in the womb, just to let you, dear reader, in on who I am. )
James and I are thankfully not the same naive 22 year old kids that got engaged 6 years ago. In some ways, we are much wiser and savvy, though I do fear it’s come at the cost of our softness towards the world we once believed we could trust. Growing up is beyond the pale of misery, this much I think we can all agree on. But with this ageing came the shedding of the expectation of what a wedding should be and why we should have one. And a lower tolerance for crappy alcohol.
Am I scared sh*tless that our venue, while it is our favorite place in the world, has never held a wedding before? Naturally. I’m actually beyond terrified. But this wedding, the one I have only had nightmares about, will be special. It will be uniquely ours, the first of it’s kind.
It’s time to lose the fiance title. Just don’t ask me if I’m changing my name…I can’t have everything figured out.