Hiiiiii, little darling one.
For a romantic (no, no it’s true, I am) I am not much of a fan of weddings.
I’ve been up close to them before.
The Groom… indifferentasauruses.
I’ve heard people actually say that if they had known how stressful planning a wedding can be, they never would have gotten married.
I’ve seen people spend way more money than they should have, just to one-up a supposed best friend.
I’ve seen drunk groomsmen dancing with jealous bridesmaids.
I’ve heard family squabbles.
I’ve witnessed some real matrimonial shit shows, and you know what?
I can’t fucking wait to marry you.
I’m ridiculously excited about the before, during and after.
I’m even excited about the planning.
I feel like you’ll want to include me in everything. Including the dress style. You know, without giving too much away.
If I protest a little that I shouldn’t see even vague photos of anything similar before the day, you’ll reply, “Darling, when I walk down the aisle towards you, it is going to blow your mind.”
My cheeks will hurt from smiling at the very idea of it.
“What are your thoughts on veils?” you’ll ask some night.
“I mean, I think my face is too pretty to cover.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” I’ll say, pretending it is a style thing, when really I just don’t want you to cover YOUR face. “Though I feel like you’d find some Old Hollywood way to make it work.”
You’ll smile at that correct reply.
Then I’ll add, “I’ve never pictured you in one. Though sometimes in a lacy clipped in hair thingy.” Because, of course, I know fashion ever so well.
And when I do see you, it will absolutely blow my mind. I’ll cry. A little. In a manly way. And I will absolutely forget everything I planned on saying to you.
I’ll have back-up in my tux pocket.
We’re going to write our own vows, because of course we are.
But I’m going to be a Tricky Trickerson. Two weeks before, I am going to leave out a note pad with vows written. Someplace not super obvious, but where you’ll see them. And we both know that anyone who reads spoilers, or the end of books, is going to look. And they’ll be good. You’ll be prrrretty satisfied with them. Mostly because you think the ones you wrote are even better.
Up there, on the altar, in front of our all-time favourite people, I am going to unleash the real vows and they’ll leave you speechless. Possibly for the first time in history.
You’ll still give me your patented open-mouth “HOW dare you?” face. Then a tear will start. Then you’ll shake your head in as close to anger as you can muster while being ridiculously in love with me.
And then you’ll melt.
Fully and completely.
And, once again, you’ll be reminded that I’m the one.
I’m your other half.
The words will be perfect. They will be so us. They will make you feel loved more than you ever legitimately hoped to be. They will make you feel listened to. They will make you feel understood.
They will remind you that you’re part of the best team ever.
I’ll pull you out of your puddle-like state when I give the loudest and most excited “I do” ever ever. Men will laugh. Women will look at their men and wonder why they didn’t sound equally as psyched on their big day.
And, baby, when I kiss you…
I don’t care who is watching.
I am going to kiss you like I mean it.
And every single other time I kiss you.
When I kiss you, you’re going to stay kissed.
(I don’t know what that even means, but it kinda sounds badass, right?)
I’m going to squeeze your bum a little too. You should probably just get on board with that happening.
You are nodding right now because you know that I’m not even a little bit kidding.
Later, I’ll set it up so the band will play what is unofficially our song. The one you told me you loved during one of our very first conversations. The one you mentioned a couple other times because you maybe mistakenly thought I had forgotten.
I really didn’t.
The song will start and I’ll take your hand and lead you out onto the dance floor. I’ll hold your hand up in the air and get you to spin around.
Just so I can see you in that dress from every angle again.
And so that I can wonder for the millionth time how I got to be so lucky.
When we’re alone in the middle of the dancefloor, and I wrap my arms around you, I’ll softly and sweetly whisper…
“I’m a terrible dancer.”
“Just stay close to me.”
Photo: The Anya Dress by Catherine Deane.