My husband and I have been remarried for about a hour, now. Chef Laura will be over this evening to cook and serve us a delicious private dinner.
And to show you what a fabulous husband I have, he is flying in next week just for my birthday, and taking a group of my close friends to dinner at our favorite Tampa restaurant.
I am blessed beyond measure.
So the big debate was “what to wear.”
“Honey,” I said, “I’d like to just wear a pair of white capris and a tunic.”
“But it’s our wedding,” he said. “You wear what you want, but I’m going to wear a jacket and maybe even a tie. I’m not used to going into a courtroom without a jacket. In fact, do you remember those gold cuff links you gave me for an anniversary, years ago? I bought a French cuff shirt and I’m planning to wear those with it.”
So I dug around in my closet for a girly girl outfit I’d only worn once, but that would be perfect for a daytime wedding in a courtroom.
A friend of ours from his law school days is now a judge, and she was to marry us in her courtroom. Her husband was M’s best friend in law school, and he was to witness.
Unpacking his suitcase Sunday, M. realized he’d forgotten his French cuff shirt. Not much call in retirement for French cuffs, so we agreed that he’d just carry the cuff links in his pocket, no sense in buying yet another one.
But now, it was getting nigh on to 2pm and our wedding was at 3pm, so he went to the closet to lay out his clothes.
“Honey,” he said. “I could’ve sworn I had two pairs of khaki slacks here. I can’t find them. Can you look?”
“Well what’s there?” I asked, pushing hangers aside and feelng all the shirts for the hidden pants.
“Two pairs of shorts and no pants. At all,” he said. I pawed through all the hangers. No pants.
“Shit, M…What are you going to do?”
“We’ll just go buy a pair,” he said calmly. He was shaved (thank God, because he is very manly and shaving takes a lonng time) but had not been in the shower, deodorized, brushed no4 gargled.
“Honey. GET IN THE SHOWER! We have to be at the ceremony in AN HOUR and we have to buy you pants.”
M. took a very quick shower and we were out the door. I was so discombobulated I left my phone and watch, but did remember something old, new, borrowed and blue. I never did brush or gargle.
The mall would’ve taken an hour and we didn’t have an hour. Walgreens Drug Store was out of the question. Target was closest, I thought. A little over two miles.
On the way to Target, I remembered the Steinmart just a few blocks away. Much closer. I sped into the parking lot, idled in the fire lane (I’d have an original excuse) and he ran in.
Within five minutes he was back in the car, with a pair of Perry Ellis khakis and a brown belt. He stripped down in the passenger seat, took off the shorts, put on the pants and we were on our way by 2:20 and at the courthouse by 2:40 p.m.
I slipped a ring on his finger, he slipped my emergency beacon back on mine, and by 3:15pm we were man and wife. Yet again.
(The bailiff looked on, and offered me the handcuffs. “Where were you 30 years ago?” I asked him.)
It was a lovely ceremony and I’ll share excerpts later.
The most perfect part was to have our friends from our long ago youth there and participating. Woody and Judge Claudia and I had reconnected here in Tampa a decade ago, but M. hadn’t seen either of them in more than 30 years. Before the ceremony, there were many tales and reminisces of our youth together.
When Woody and Claudia looked at me, I felt the most perfect understanding of just how miraculous this was. And what this meant to me.
Having them participate meant everything to us both.