So, yes, I’m a big fat liar. We’ve lied to some of you, told some of you, kinda hinted to some more and then flat out said nothing to even more of you. I am sorry. Kind of, not really.
I’m already a married woman. I’ve actually been married for OVER A YEAR NOW. (Ha! I can hear the gasps and swears now) We’re just home now to do it the right way. In front of friends and family and with lots of food and candles and fall treats. We’re going to have ourselves a real-ish wedding and it’s going to be the perfect fall vacation I’ve been dying for. In fact, I’m at the lake now and it’s kick ass. It’s 50. It’s sunny and clear skies. The leaves are straight out of a crayon box and the lake sparkles. The house smells like a hearty fire was just put out, there’s enough booze here to kill 8 horses and I have been walking around the house in sweats and barefoot, loving.my.life.
Who cares about the 2.0 wedding, though, right? If you know us, you know the first wedding is where the story is at and I’ve been DYING to type it out and post it but I was never sure when the right time was. Well, a little unveiling of the first story right before the second one seems juuuuust right. Because it is a pretty good story.
So, last year we decide to up and move to Germany and do it within a month-ish of the offer. Very unselfish of us. So we tell our families and our friends and our jobs and we hold our breath until everyone says, Ok, whatever. You two are insane. Then we celebrate and jump up and down and plan out our new lives in Europe. I personally decide I will dress like a Bond girl daily, which shocking, never happened.
Then we attempt to get married the first time. Oh, there was a first attempt, yes. The attempt is even BEFORE the first secret wedding. About 8 days before we are to hope a Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt, the Mr. and I have this conversation over the phone.
“I think we should get married at the town hall before we leave. As in Tuesday, when you get back from visiting your family in CT.” That is me, somewhat bullying my fiance at the time to marry me at a town hall location that is conveniently across the street from a Fudruckers in Alexandria, VA. Who doesn’t want to get married for the first time in front of a burger joint?
“Married here? Before we leave? I thought we decided to wait and see how it all went with the visa and the job hunting and…” I do not let him finish.
“I made us an appointment for Tuesday at 4pm. Think about it. Tell your parents I say hello.” I hung up. Well, he’ll think about it and it’ll be done, won’t it? Oh, I knew what I was doing. The girl who hates churches and dresses and the awkward garter taking off thing was going to have herself a real town hall wedding and it was going to be quick and simple and we’d work out the real one later.
And my parents expect such behavior from me. They know that I do not give a rats ass about what anyone thinks about my life. I do not care who approves of my bad ways and I do not live to make anyone happy, all of this to their misfortune, of course, because I am obviously not a very traditional or reliable child to have around. HOWEVER. I am fun and I am good for a “Oh my kid has your kid beat” story at the check-out line in the grocery store so I figure we’re even.
I am also clearly not good at considering another family or their feelings. I admit this. (birthday goal number 4 addresses this I believe)
So anyhoo, of course he decides I am right, we shall marry the following Tuesday and it will be easiest on us and what? we’re getting married anyway….what does it matter if the first secret wedding is at a town hall? It doesn’t.
And so, the morning of Wedding Tuesday comes and we jump out of bed and prepare for our nuptials. We stroll into Old Town to get lattes and a marriage license. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy. I get a pretty white dress from the Gap that flows and isn’t too sexy or too modest. He puts on a shirt that he actually irons with some dress pants. We find rings to exchange at Target and Nordstrom and we’re almost out the door when I say,
“I have to tell my mother and sister. All of our mail is going to them and if it shows up saying your last name with my first name they’re going to know and good god, I just have to tell them. It’ll be quick.”
The call to my mother was less painful than the one to my sister. I think my mother just went with, “I hope you know what you’re doing. I hate to see you doing it this way.” route. Katie went with something similar but with more disappointment and guilt and our conversation ended with me huffing, “I hope you’re happy you just ruined my wedding day,” because I’m not dramatic or anything.
“Well now I have to tell my family.” I think Chris was going to pass out.
I decide to give him a little privacy and run off to find my father in his little urn, because I realize we don’t have a witness and I have my father with me somewhere near the boxes I had packed for Germany and he should at least be at the wedding, right? Ah, I find my father on the mantel and put him in my pocket. Things are coming together.
Things are not going well for Chris. In fact, we don’t make it to the town hall across from the Fudruckers that day. Well, we made it there. We just didn’t go in for fear that we’d just got ourselves uninvited from every family holiday from then until we had children to barter with.
But I did make him take me to the lobster and steak dinner with champagne that we had planned out for after. Just because I could still mark “single” on a tax return didn’t mean I wasn’t going to eat the fuck out of a steak that night.
And so, there you have ATTEMPT AT MARRIAGE 1.
More marriage stories to follow as we get close to the big day.