Five Years

Stolen moments on a special day

At seven o'clock, the phone rang. It rang four times before I managed to get it to my ear and croak out a greeting.

It was as crazy as I look.

I had been in bed for six hours, and I knew it was only by the grace of God that I hadn't spent that time puking my brains out instead.

There's a reason you don't actually want to have your bachelorette party the night before your wedding.

It was the manager of one of the hotel where we had a block of rooms, and he was calling to tell me that he was going to charge me for every single one that hadn't been rented.

It was going to be $700.

Screaming for forty minutes on the phone with that hotel manager, and his wife, and a few other people, kept me from vomiting just a little bit longer. As my oldest and dearest friends snuck past my bedroom to find some coffee or toast while they waited for the day's insanity to commence, I vomited spectacularly.

The meal that nearly killed a groomsman...

And that was how my wedding day began.

Five years ago, as of this moment, I was taking M's anti-nausea pills- diagnosed for his chemotherapy treatments- so that I would stop puking long enough to set up the hall where we would be married.

The centerpieces were already made, but still in a few pieces. There were balloons- GIANT balloons- to be filled, lanterns to be strung, chocolates to be strewn around, linens to be steamed.

I wandered in a daze in and out of the kitchen, where Aunt Genocide was construction a spectacle of a cake, the likes of which may have never been seen before or since. Aside from the epic quantities of cake in the concoction for display, there were also half a dozen sheet cakes of the same. Batches and batches and batches of chocolate butter cream frosting, hundreds of gum paste forget-me-nots, one of my favorite flowers. And although we had not once discussed what would top the cake, hand dipped chocolate covered strawberries- on tuxedo dipped with a little bow tie, one in white, with a stem like a veil, a gum paste forget-me-not affixed like a bouquet.

Aunt Green watching Aunt Genocide make some magic

Just when I felt that I might finally be past the after effects of my utterly spectacular night of karaoke and penis crowns, my bridesmaids convinced me that I needed to wear makeup for my big day.

Yeah, that was when that decision was made.

And despite my protestations, mascara was applied. And a giant gloop of it fell into my eye.

As I cried and whimpered and sobbed and wept and begged for somebody to help me before I was covered in mascara tears and blind forever, my bridesmaids laughed their asses of at me.

And then I got married.

I wasn't covered in mascara...

We said "I do..."

We became husband and wife...

We danced...

Everybody danced...

We ate like kings...

We celebrated with our best friends...

We ran off into the night...

And we lived happily ever after.

These have been the best five years of my life.