May
31

Wedded, Bliss.

When creating our wedding ceremony, I started with a prototype—a sample ceremony, one of eight provided by the judge. I added things here, subtracted things there, and rearranged entire sections. One of the first things I dispensed with was a line about the day of one’s marriage being “the happiest day of your life.” I cringed when I read it, and crossed it out with a flourish.
First of all, it was a cliché. Second of all, I was three days away from my wedding, and barely sleeping—if I was this nervous merely anticipating the event, surely the day itself would be too nerve-wracking, too emotionally strenuous, to be “the happiest day of my life.” Exhilarating? Sure. Ultimately joyful? Of course. But “the happiest day?” It seemed unlikely that my happiest day would involve girdles and Ativan.
As it turned out, however, I could have left that line in.

Well, probably not. It was a pretty bad line, and it is still a cliché, after all. But in my case it turned out to be true: May 26th, 2007, was the best day I have had in all my twenty-seven years of days. And even though I have been back from my (idyllic, wonderful) honeymoon long enough now to have emptied a litter box, discovered an unpaid bill that had fallen behind a dresser, confronted a beetle the size of my palm, and been woken by a cat stepping on my hair, I still feel goofily, grinningly happy. I don’t know how long this feeling will last, but I am enjoying it while it does.

Scott (formerly known as the Actually) and I were touched to return to the world of Internet access to find so many of you wishing us well. I hope to have pictures to post soon. I haven’t seen any yet myself, but I can predict that all show me smiling—especially the ones taken outdoors, in the city park across the street from the venue.
The benches were populated with vagrants, who alternately urged me to hold up my dress to keep it from dragging along the ground and quarreled amongst themselves. During a particularly loving and sun-dappled moment, my new husband and I stood under a tree with our arms around one another. We smiled into the camera, and in the background someone screamed: “FUCK YOU, MICHAEL!”
I don’t know who Michael is, but he will always be a part of our special day.

By Alexa | Posted in Ceci N'est Pas Une Ecrivaine |