Old School Photo Friday. Wedding Bells.

Are ringing.

Well, they were anyway.

Some 7 years ago this Saturday.  Or is  it Sunday.  Dangit.  I’d better look that up!

Anyway, some time this weekend Dumb Dad and I will celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary.

That’s a pretty big one, right?

That’s when things start to get itchy or something?

Whatever.  Even if I had an itch I’m WAY to friggin’ exhausted to try to scratch and I’m gonna say ditto for Dumb Dad.

Right Dumb Dad?

Effing, R-I-G-H-T?!

I’m sure he’d agree.

He’s hopelessly in love with me anyway.

Always has been.

Well, at least ever since before, when he wasn’t.

Do you know that at one point in our history, Dumb Dad told me that he really didn’t, “consider me his girl friend” and that we were “just hanging out”?!

He was a dolt I tell you.

Almost let a good thing get away is what he did.

Luckily, I was effing-psycho-girlfriend-stalker-chick committed to exploring the possibilities of this relationship.

Which completely unintentionally led to this…

Yep, that’s #1 who was conceived and born (and walking, and sorta talking, and nearly signing his own name) before we tied the knot.

And, eventually to this…

An intimate affair for friends and family to share in a special union of two special people (aka a quickie wedding planned in less than 45 days and designed to keep costs low).

We had less than 40 people at our wedding.

It was intentional (I have 19 aunts and uncles, most of which are married, with kids who are married with kids and I didn’t want to have to pay for all of that; oh, Dumb Dad has some family members too I guess).

And it was amazing.

At least that’s what they tell me.

Because for some reason I recall very little of my special day.

And, no.  I wasn’t wasted (well, at least not until later).

I just have limited memory of the day.

I recall…

1.  The cake.  It was da bomb.  Inside and out.  I swear, 7 years later, if I still had a chunk of that culinary delight in my freezer I would totally thaw that bad boy out and consume it.  Never mind the potential for projectile vomiting.  That shiz was gooood!

 

2.  The dress.  I wish I would have been more daring, but as someone with a chronic, persistent case of bad-body-imageitis I was going out on a limb by even showing my arms and that opening in the back was darn near promiscuous.  Now I’m sitting here wishing my 32 year old 29 Again arms could even hold a candle to my Definitely 25 year old arms.

 

3.  The afro.  Not mine.  Mimi’s.  I mean, I forgave her for it.  It was humid.  And it rained.   No biggie.  Afros happen.  Even on wedding days.

 

4.  The kid.  Which actually was mine.  I remember being all concerned about him wailing during the ceremony or messing up the pictures by refusing to cooperate.  Not sure why.  He was a perfect toddler.  He never did stuff like that.  The follow-up kids are the ones.

 

5.  The photos.  I mean they were okay.  Not spectacular or even that memorable.  But, okay.  I wasn’t a wedding photographer myself at the time so my standards were different (aka all I cared about was the price).  But even then, I was peeved that we didn’t get better shots together, and that the groom (who admittedly was LATE to the ceremony) didn’t get any individual photos.  Not.  One.  Completely skews the wedding album in my favor.  Normally I’d be fine with that, but it sorta throws off the symmetry of the thing, ya know.

88% of everything else that occurred before, during, and definitely after the event is a blur.

The vows.  Nothing.

The food.  Nada.

The music.  Nix.

I do, however, distinctly recall the best man and BFF rounding up all of the opened bottles of champagne for our limo ride through D.C., the liquor store stop at the beginning of that limo ride, and peeing in the bathroom at the Washington Monument while BFF held my dress over my head in the adjoining stall thanks to all of that liquor.

That’s the kind of stuff Dumb weddings are made of.

Here’s to many more years of Dumb Family fun.

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