HoboBaby

So, almost eleven years ago we went on our first date.  Today we’ve been married for seven years.  SEVEN YEARS PEOPLE.  That’s not like a world record or anything but figuring I’m only 28 and we’ve been married for SEVEN, together for ELEVEN years that’s like, totally, a really, really long time.  LIKE REALLY, REALLY, REALLY FRIGGIN’ LONG.

Earlier today I had a great idea for a post but it was mostly full of things that were irritating me about my husband.  Things like setting his chocolate milk glass and spoon next to the sink instead of inside the dishwasher that had been running for only 3 minutes.

But then I remembered how he put the clothes from the washer into the dryer on his own, without being asked, even though the clothes hadn’t been washed yet and would probably end up with set stains.  Or how he bought me a gallon (a gallon!) of Pink Bubblegum Ice Cream from Baskin Robbins when all I swore I wanted was a pint, and has never once made a comment about how much I shovel in nibble every single night.

So I thought it best not to write that post.  Not on my anniversary.  A sacred and holy day.  The day I signed my life away to spend with someone else forever and ever and ever and everrrrrrrrr.

I wrote this story instead:

Seven years ago today, at around 8 pm the sun was setting in the hills and a vineyard was bathed in golden light.

A girl in a white dress stood behind some rose bushes stomping her foot impatiently, waiting for all the guests to be seated.  “It’s my wedding!” she told her grandfathers, “If I’m ready to go that’s all that matters so let’s get this show on the road!”Parents and grandparents were escorted down the aisle.  Girls in red dresses made the walk too.  Then the music changed, something about air wearing a G-String, and it was time.  All of a sudden the girl in the white dress couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t move.  This was it.  Like IT, it.  Her one and only chance to make this walk, and she was torn between running to meet the guy on the other end and moving painfully slow so as to capture every sight, every smell, every memory there was in the air. And also to make sure everyone saw her in that damn dress that cost her so many pretty pennies.  Her Grandfathers walked her slow, each clutching an arm and making sure she remembered this moment.

They tossed her away presented her to the guy waiting in the black suit.

They said “I Will”.

Then they turned around, married.

And they ran away!

Just kidding.  They only ran to the end of the field.  Because that’s what you do when the William Tell Overture starts up.  You run down an aisle.  Laughing.

They smiled a lot for the camera.

And took a walk in the outrageously hot summer night.

There was food and dancing.

And good times had by all.  Maybe a little too much good time.By the end of the night we were beat and dragged ourselves outside to leave.  The 3.2 people who stayed late enough to watch us go got to see the big finale.

Then it was over.  Just like that.  Thankfully the fun continued as the newlyweds “honeymooned” for a week packing up an apartment to move to Chicago.  It was earthshakingly romantic.  But at least we had a good time.

The wedding.