I met a graduate student in my book club—she’s engaged to a post-doc here. They are planning a small wedding. She told me she wasn’t wearing a ring because she’d rather use the money to go to Alaska. Oh, how I love a sensible woman.
Except when I was 27 I wasn’t so sensible. I ignored my mother’s advice when I was planning my big, fun Jewish wedding. She told me that if she were me, she would use the money for a time-share in Hawaii. Funny, when I look at my wedding photos, my mother is laughing and dancing the most of anyone. Maybe she was relieved she was able to marry off such a big-mouthed daughter.
I think we would have had a different type of engagement and wedding if we had waited, but we were young and romantic. He got down on his knee to propose to me in a park in London. I remember he was crying and I was afraid he was going to tell me he had a terminal disease. Later, I tried to talk him into getting married in Mexico, me in a white sundress and he in a pair of shorts, barefoot on the beach. The Professor was horrified, afraid of the drinking water and inability to confirm travel plans through American Express. Plus, he had always envisioned a formal wedding, complete with tuxedo and gown. He probably played house as a child, too.
I am glad we went for it, though. We both loved our wedding day. It was beautiful and it’s tough to beat celebrating with family and best friends and a few tables full of people we can’t identify now. We drank champagne and danced all night. And I’ve got the album to prove it.
No comments:
Post a Comment