About two hours later most of the comedy that was My Wedding Day had wrapped up - the song the violinist forgot to play, the mispronounciation of both of our last names by the minister, the balloons that all popped at the reception, the enchiladas we'd spent hours rolling earlier in the week that my crack squad of volunteer caterers couldn't figure out how to heat up, the rain that waited but made the humidity unbearable - and we were laughing at each other for the fantastic scam we'd pulled, that somehow WE had had a wedding, and while all of the stupidity was now over the miracle was that we could now just get on with what we wanted to do, which was be with each other, be with the person we loved most in the world, tuxedo and white dress or shorts and t-shirts, champagne or iced tea, fancy scrolled layers or pink iced cupcake.
I never imagined myself getting married, but somehow shadowdaddy made it sound like maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. I liked the "spend the rest of your life with somebody" part of the deal, even though I knew then and I know now that it's not worth the paper it's written on - it's a decision you make every day. And still, today, when I imagine myself old and shuffling through the grocery store in my slippers, it's Jason I want to have helping me to push the cart down the aisle.
Fourteen and a half years together. Thirteen years of living together. Twelve years with Extra Added Legal Stuff. My Worthy Opponent, still pushing me to be the best person I can be, still loving and supporting me even when I'm far from my best. Happy Anniversary. I love you.