I don’t mean to imply that my whole wedding was a disaster after disaster, but it was a little weird and strange things seemed to crop up. But what did I expect? We’d been engaged nine days—yes, nine days from when I said yes to a strange proposal to walking down the aisle.
That said, I was not one of those girls who had imagined her wedding from when she was tiny. Except I did want a Cinderella dress that reached from 
pew to pew. Since I’m five feet two inches, such a dress was not in the cards. But I did find a dress I liked okay and I got it for $75, so I was happy. I made my headpiece and bouquet from silk flowers and a yard or two of tulle, and told my bridesmaid to wear whatever she wanted. I was not Bridezilla. In fact, I didn’t care all that much about the wedding—I cared only for the groom. Is that weird? Yeah, maybe, but I watch all those brides on Say Yes to the Dress and wonder sometimes if they care more for the wedding than they do the marriage. I didn’t have 
that bridal moment when I first tried on the dress—I didn’t really care what I wore so much. It was white, it was long and demure, and it was cheap. ‘Nuff said.
The proposal was unconventional, though not really a disaster.
Me: I’m ready to get married.
Him: What are you doing next Saturday?
Me: Why?
Him: We can get married.
Me: Okay.
Was there a bended knee? No, we were driving at the time. Was there a diamond? No. I said I didn’t need one and he said, “I’m so glad you feel that way.” Is it any wonder I rushed to say yes to this man? 😉
So maybe not caring about the dress wasn’t a disaster. Having my mother say that she and Dad couldn’t travel from Wisconsin to Virginia for a wedding nine days away was. I cried. Mom cried. Dad called and said they would be there. Whew!
There was no wedding rehearsal the night before the nuptials—the only people available were hubby, his parents and me. My parents and maid of honor arrived late that night.
It rained. And when I say rain, I mean downpours. Everyone was wet coming into the chapel and I was petrified about walking down a wet aisle. (I made it.)
I cried a lot moments before the service. I begged my dad not to make me get married. His words of advice? “We drove all the way here from Wisconsin and you’re going to get married.” Truthfully, I think he believed I was pregnant. After all, why else would I rush to name a wedding date? I was not, but I always wondered if that was why he took such a strong stance.
I had told the minister and hubby that I did not want to kiss him (hubby) in 
front of everyone. But when all was said and done, I kissed everyone except hubby—my maid of honor, the minister, the best man. Hubby said I was about to head for the organist when he turned me and took my up the aisle.
There were only about 70 people attending, and the reception was at my new in-laws’ house. I neglected to mention in my hurried invites that there would be no dinner, only cake and some kind of punch. A few of my friends came from Richmond and Fredericksburg and they were hungry by the time the event ended. We were married out in the sticks, and there was nowhere to eat for fifty miles once they left. I felt bad about that, but by the time I found out, there was no solution except a few cheese sandwiches.
This is probably the biggest mishap: I didn’t remember anything about the wedding. Nothing. Hubby had a good laugh telling me all about it the next day.
All that said, for a hurried wedding, the marriage has been good for over forty years. We had dated for years, but dating and married are two very different things! Fortunately, I chose well—and I’d like to say he did too. (Well, hell, I will say he did to.) We still laugh, still love, still enjoy being with each other despite the rushed beginning. And that isn’t a disaster!
Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.
Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!
Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!
point, I think I had 300 cookbooks. Whenever any family member traveled anywhere, they knew what to bring back for my collection. I read them like novels and used them often. In the same line, I collected 
Banks, a red phone box from London, a variety of stocking stuffer magnets, and one I kept from my mother-in-law when she died: “Dull women keep immaculate houses.” And so many more! Each magnet brought back memories. But two moves back, I think I lost the box. So temporarily, I’ve given up collecting anything. It’s not a bad thing. Now I’ve taken to giving away items I have for other people’s collections. It’s just as fun!