The Kids Got Married, Part I
The Lieutenant and Mrs.
Dominic and I were married on December 24th, 2004. "Oh, how romantic," people said. "You're getting married on Christmas Eve."
I spent most of the morning in various stages of getting ready. Dominic took a ten minute shower. Then he shaved. Then he put on his mess dress.
The whole process took him about a half an hour. But, my, he looked dashing.
My wedding shoes were glamorous, fabulous, and led me, ultimately, to a grisly fate.
The cat was spooked that morning. What was that apparition in all the bustling white?
I don't normally wear lipstick. But getting married called for drastic cosmetic measures. Like putting on make-up, for instance. And drying and curling my hair.
It took Dominic a moment to zip my dress up. The white satin beast had challenged, fought, and tamed my tummy. It was a frightful battle.
The Christmas tree and the bride. Tradition got the better of both of us--a tree felled, lugged indoors and decorated, and a very pale girl in a white dress in December. But we looked fabulous anyway.
On the way to the gardens...
Dominic and I realized...
That we'd forgotten my bouquet. We turned around to fetch it.
At this point, I was a married woman. And frozen and dead nearly. Or at least I sort of felt like it.
At this point, we were both totally married.
My wedding shoes, as sophisticated and fabulous as they looked, were no match for the Stairs of Death. Neither was I when I fell down them (to the grisly fate I mentioned earlier) in front of the only crowd of people I saw all day at the gardens. I landed on my butt, in a settling cloud of white wedding dress.
You may all laugh now. I certainly did. And so did Dominic. Shortly after helping me up, he rushed to the foot of the stair to capture the moment of my embarrassment in infamy.
So begins married life.