X Marks the Spot

This time, nine years ago, B and I were on our way to Galveston.  We would spend the night there, before embarking on our honeymoon cruise, the most of which I spent barfing.  But up until and in between all that, we had a really great wedding.

I do wish we’d had a videographer because the whole thing is little more than a happy blur, but I’m thankful for the great photography.  You know, all the little things went wrong that day.  We got the wrong flowers, the wrong cake, the heater was broken in the Bride’s room and my girls and I got shuffled around a few times while we were trying to get dressed.  My bouquet kept falling apart, and I had to keep grabbing flowers and poking them back into place.  It poured down rain, too, so much that the decorations the guys put on B’s car had washed off before we had even really turned onto the highway to leave.  It was a true deluge.  Still, it was all deliriously fun, and I was beside myself happy.

The icing on the cake moment for me came during the ring exchange portion of our ceremony.  The night prior, at our rehearsal, I had tried to put the pretend ring on B’s right hand instead of his left.  I don’t know right from left, and I especially don’t know it when it is facing the other direction.  So, when the pastor told me to put the ring on B’s finger, I looked down and saw that he had marked a big X on the fingernail of his ring finger.  I cracked up laughing because it was funny, and sweet, and so wholly accepting of me as a human being without a whisper of discontent–he took one of my greatest deficits and one of my most embarrassing weaknesses, and he turned it into a fond joke, like a very loving noogie–and I thought that was just the best thing ever.  How lucky was I to be marrying a man who would mark the spot?

I think that’s the best part of my marriage.  Our life together is funny and sweet, and wholly accepting of one another as flawed human beings, without even whispers of discontent.  That’s not to say we don’t get aggravated with each other, and it’s not to say that we don’t butt heads, but I know I am married to a man who so wants me as his wife that he made darned sure I knew where to put that ring.  I married a man who could have rolled his eyes at me, but who gave me a wink instead.

I have no recollection of our kiss. I’m glad the photographer got it!

 

 

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