We are making it official the end of February. And I do mean the end, as the 29th is about as end of February as you can get. I know a lot of people are asking, why now, after living together for all these years? I think the best answer is, because we are married in every way that counts, except in cases where one of us needs to speak for the other, then it gets iffy, so we are fixing that. That, and the fact that we love each other like crazy people and have fun and enjoy each other and just generally like each other, which is a lot more than some couples can say, I’m sorry to report.
With that said, Joannie and I are both excited and running around like we were teenagers making plans and acting silly and all sorts of wonderful things. Joannie needs to find a dress, and I need to get a new shirt, and get nail polish to match, and who’s coming and who isn’t and how much food do we need and nuts… who’s allergic to nuts? Better just not have nuts to be sure, and gluten, oh crap, some people don’t do gluten. What the hell is gluten, anyway? Okay, if you’re coming to my wedding, and you have special food requirements, better pack a lunch, just in case. There, that fixed that.
We have the place picked out, but it’s outside so it better not rain, but if it does, we’re still having a wedding. I’m not getting all dressed up and shaving my headbone and doing my nails special to postpone anything. No sir, if you melt in a little rain, then better bring a jacket, or trash bag, or whatever you use to keep dry in the rain, because Joannie and I are getting married, rain, shine, snow or dark of night. No wait, I don’t think it will be dark, it’s at 11 am. Unless there is an eclipse I didn’t hear about, but they don’t last all that long anyway, and people don’t freak out anymore and run screaming that the world is coming to an end, not unless the Mayans run out of room on their calendar rock, or maybe they figured that a calendar good for the next few thousands years was good enough, and the next issue they planned to put naked girls, or beefy fire fighters, or adorable kittens on the cover anyway, so we’ll just let this one end at 2012 for pete’s sake.
And yet, I never win the The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. Go figure.