he moved in with me after he got laid off but during the tail end of his divorce. we were madly in love, and best of friends, and committed to each other without any ceremony. once his divorce was final, he would occasionally ask me to marry him roughly quarterly. although i wanted to be recognized officially as a couple by more than our closest friends, i was afraid of repeating the pain i had felt at the end of my previous marriage. so, i made excuses and let the subject pass until the next quarter. and came up with another excuse when he popped the question the next quarter.
we bought a house together, two sets of paperwork and all. we combined our two storage units, three dogs, and all of our divorcewear to make a home together. and the Christmas after we moved into our home, he slipped a diamond engagement ring into the pocket of my brown corduroy overalls that were my Christmas gift. el Jefe’ literally got down on his knees and asked me to marry him and i said “yes”. (stipulation: "someday").
Valentine’s Day, following that Christmas, fell on a Saturday nine years ago. i spent the day at home cleaning or working on the house while el Jefe’ was slaving away at work on a top secret project with horrendous deadlines. we had plans (but not reservations) to go to Joe’s Crab Shack for dinner. mind you, Valentine’s Day was the anniversary of his previous marriage. i think this reminder weighed on both our minds every Valentine’s Day. i stewed and fretted most of the day. how could i ever compete with the memory of his failed marriage?
i called the County and got a recording that they are (were) open 24 hours, even on weekends (there went that excuse). i listened to the minimal list of rules and requirements and decided if he would have me, i would marry him that day (or evening). he put in a full day at the office and arrived home after the sun had set. in the minimal light of dusk, i handed him a Post-It note with the phone number of the County and the marriage license bureau recording. he dialed the number, listened, asked if i was sure, and asked if it was ok that we got something to eat first.
we had dinner at Joe’s Crab Shack as planned, with plenty of beers and a dozen oysters to boot. we bought two Foster’s oil cans and wedding cake (Hostess cupcakes … maybe another post) on our way to the courthouse. we got our license and looked in the phone book for an appropriate chapel (traditional? drive-thru? Elvis?) as enticing as Elvis was, the thought of my father’s reaction to his baby daughter being walked down the aisle by Elvis convinced us to select a drive-thru. we downed one of the oil cans and pulled up to a dri
ve-thru chapel. they provided us a menu of services, most of which we opted against, save the “silk” bouquet consisting of a singular red rose. we smiled and laughed and had a wonderful time as we got married in a pick-up truck in our favorite clothes, with little speakers propped on the aluminum shelf of the drive-thru. the minister had to stop briefly during the ceremony as a bus drove by. the only time el Jefe’ shut off the truck was for our Polaroid photo.i wouldn’t trade my wedding day for any other. it was absolutely perfect.
Happy 9th Anniversary, el Jefe’. i love you more (mower) and more each day.
2 comments:
Great story...it fun to imagine the two of you sitting there in the truck! The cupcakes remind me of a Christmas when my hubby and I were very young. We forgot to buy stocking stuffers (a tradition in my family that is a must)for each other so we each had 5 bucks in the local 7-eleven, as that was the only store open at 10pm on Christmas eve!! I'll just say it was a very interesting gift exchange!
Big Awwww factor! :D
Loved it. good picture, too. Let me tell you what..after two failed marriages, I've decided if I EVER do it again, we're wearing jeans and just having a party with some friends.
Maybe some oil. :D
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