The Girls

I Do Countdown: 39 Days

Vic & Leah - gawd, these ladies make me laugh.

E-mail to Vicadeedoodah:

Hey Writer Dude - Are you going to write me a "how we met" and "wedding story" for my weddingish blog????? 

Say "I Do"

-C

Imagine it, Sicily, 194.... sorry, I was channeling Sophia Petrillo.

So, there we were.

It was called a Holy Union ceremony, back in the day, not all that long ago. Marriage and wife are still words I smile at hearing. Part of me cannot believe it and the other part knows how hard the journey from there to here was. I say it with emotions that are equal parts pride, amazement and honour. She IS my wife! And we are now legally married WoooHooo!!!

Yes, this was one of many ceremonies we have had. I tell you that woman is trying for an anniversary every month. We met in one month. Trust me, that one counts or so I have been told. So, too does the small intimate thing with the two of us and a few witnesses. The Holy Union that I write about, and where we invited friends and family, counts - as does our "let's make it legal" one. How many anniversaries is one woman entitled to?

I should have scheduled them all to have taken place on the same date. Duh!

So, it was our Holy Union ceremony and people were coming. I panic when people are coming, even if it just means to our house. Cleaning and fretting, cooking and fretting... Mostly fretting. I worry about all that can go wrong. Nothing much ever does go wrong, but I fret anyways. Once, I did cook Cathy and Dave a very rare roast, but the things I fret about do not usually happen. No food poisoning, no roof collapse, no harsh judgements and disapproving glares. I just tend to think, "what can go wrong?" and then fret that it might and they will realize I am a loser and a failure. Nothing much.... I just fret.

This is our big day, nothing can go wrong, they assure me, and I fret anyways.

I am downstairs busy being the butch - all suave and calm, cool and collected. Well, really, I was busy pacing. I was fretting and also emotional about the moment. So, there I was, on the verge of tears, passing out or puking all while walking back and forth at break neck speeds. If I hurled it would be in a path. They laughed at me, put Kleenex in my pocket and plied me with Pepto Bismol and a rye chaser, all the while reassuring me as people are wont to do "everything will be fine" and "nothing will go wrong"...

LIARS!!!!!

My beloved was upstairs getting beautiful, as she is wont to do, or so I thought. Then it dawned on me. Where is the woman doing the feminine bride's hair and make-up? Not here???

Oh, shit! What now? The feminine bride is doing her own hair and makeup... Ok. Well, not so ok.... it is 535 degrees Celsius. Her face is liquid and dripping while she tries to apply make-up.

"It is August, you know. Didn't I tell you????"

She sends word that, though she has esthetician and her make-up is now watercolours, that they need to take care of me. She is about to marry me and she KNOWS me. Fretting is not possible now. This is some stage between panic attack and complete nervous breakdown. There is no essuring this.

The yard looked lovely, the archway was covered in flowers... and... and the sky was rapidly turning pitch black. The sprinkles began. The contingency plan was put into effect. Large floor to ceiling bay windows....We carried the archway inside.... all the while me muttering, "I told you".

Who frets for no good reason? Not me!

My urge to blow chunks is now going full throttle. It may have to do with the added stress and the fact that the more I fretted, the more those "taking care of me" have handed me to drink. As, I said, reassuring words no longer worked. They switched to what might. The weepy emotional stuff is now on the back burner. I am a half-pissed nervous wreck.

But, the rain seems to have passed us by. "Leave it," I say.  I am not moving this venue again and I am sure operating an archway under the influence is against the law.

Then, I get the word that she cannot get her shoes on... What?

The ungodly heat, her feet are swollen and her shoes will not go on.

Lord, shoot me now.

"Pass her another drink."

"I told you."

"You did not tell anyone she would get bloated feet. You are making shit up, now."

"No, I did not say specifically "swollen feet" or kidney failure, do you think it is kidney failure? I knew this was too good to be true..." gulp, swallow, gulp.....

Why had I not brought spare shoes, I thought, and a spare esthetician?

It is like a game, like quarters now instead of a shot glass and a missed shot, I fret, I drink. Plain and simple rules.

There is my future sister-in-law.

I am slurring. "Does she have her needles on her?"

No, I am not about to shoot up, but those in charge of keeping me calm might have advised it. "Give her a sedative or heroin, something, anything."

Acupuncture needles. She is a chiropractor.

My mother was almost proud. Yeah he was a she and no she was not a doctor, but her sister is!

My wife in all her wedding regalia, with her face dripping, gets pins put in her.

If the science behind the acupuncture thing works, the swelling will do down based on meridians. If not, we can hope the cartoon science does and that a pin prick pops her ass, I mean her feet, like a balloon.

The shoes are on!

Let's begin.

The sun is beaming in the windows, now.

Nothing else can go wrong... You think I fret for nothing?

The soloist begins singing, from the top of the stairs. She does not want people looking at her while she sings.

The tape playing words we spoke to each other is too low, turn it up. No, now, the crackling background is too annoying. Hey you are guest this is not about YOU. It is about US, sit there and pretend you can hear something other than "mumble, mumble, mumble...." we are feeding your asses and having an open bar, it is the least you can do.

The bride is hobbling down the stairs almost tripping over the flower girl who stopped on the descent because mom was out of sight.

Still, the bride was a vision, even with flat, sweaty hair and a melted face with fat feet.

I could feel the lump in my throat. It was not indigestion or vomit. It was pure, overwhelming emotion and adoration.

We got through the vows and the rain never really arrrived, just big sprinkle drops, we ate, laughed, we drank, we danced outside...

How could none of the panic, the stuff that you have no words for not have been somehow saved to share?

Oh, we always have the wedding video.

The singing from someplace, mumbles, the almost tumble down the stairs, the Unity candle bursting into flames, the wine glass that resisted Mazol Tov...

Oh, and the archway in front of the large window streaming in sunlight. My wife in a white dress and our friend in black with bleached blonde hair. I married a head floating in space and the service was done by a headless person.

It could not have been more perfect.

Yes, some people get mushy and teary when they recall "their day" - we die laughing.

Wonder if the wife wants to pop in a video and watch me marry her head tonight?

Hell, no! She would get emotional and want to renew our vows or something. I cannot bear another anniversary!

***

We call them "The Girls."

They call my fiance "Our Dave."

We call each other friends.

Just about every Friday we start the weekend off with dinner and some high stakes euchre. Sometimes we do too much yakking and not enough card-playing. Sometimes I laugh so hard that I sound like Snagglepuss, that wheezing cartoon cat.

Dinner's usually ok, card playing is generally pretty good but the best part of our get-togethers is the laughing. I think we do that best.

The Girls are playing important roles in our upcoming wedding. Leah is making our wedding cake (she's very, very good at it) and Vic, who is studying to become a lay minister for the United Church of Canada, will be performing part of the wedding ceremony. I'm grateful to them both.

A special shout-out to them now as they cope with Leah's father being ill. My best wishes, thoughts and prayers are with you. 

Vic never did tell me what their wedding song was, so I'll play this song in their honour.