The heady scent of romance
So our anniversary, then. I knew something was afoot as I told you yesterday when the boys were making vague mutterings about Daddy’s present being so much better than mine. And yes, okay, he won.
For this to make any sense to you, you’ll need a bit of background information. When Hubby and I got together, I’d already been married (a short-lived thing in my teens). My poor parents paid an extortionate amount of money for my first wedding, a fairytale church affair - we’re talking Laura Ashley wedding and bridesmaid dresses (well, it was the 80s – we had white stilettos too har de har!), a fantastic reception, the whole works – only to see it crash and burn in an embarrassingly short amount of time. With this fact still very much in mind, and being a teensy bit aware of the fact that I was already pregnant with #1, Hubby and I decided to just sneak off quietly to the registry office and do the deed. No parents, no friends, no beautiful wedding dress, no cake, no reception, and, frankly, no money. I had a ring, but it cost us £40 and was so thin it wore down to evil sharpness over the years and I’d stopped wearing it.
Over the years we’ve talked about it and really can’t work out why we didn’t at least have a party, and have often thought that we might like to do it all over again, but properly this time. Imagine my surprise, then, when after I’d handed over the obligatory bottle of aftershave, Hubby produced a teeny (the best kind), gold-wrapped box and I unwapped it to discover a brand new, beautifully chunky wedding ring. The conversation goes a little like this (tissues out, people):
Me: Wow! A new wedding ring. Thanks, I love it!
Hubby then takes my hand and grows suspiciously serious. #2, who is STILL not back at school, is suddenly very interested in the conversation:
Me: What?
Hubby: Would you marry me again properly?
Me: Heh.
Hubby: Well? Is that yes or no?
Me: Oh sorry I thought you were joking.
Hubby: Well, no actually. Let’s get married. This time next year, on our fifteenth anniversary. Properly. A blessing, a reception, a party… the works.
Me: Yay! Partay! Oops, I mean, yes of course
[Insert big hug here]
So there you have it. Blimey, we’re getting married.
I hope all your blogging friends will be invite. I’m dusting off my hat already!
Moon: He’s a lover not a fighter!
Quicky: Aw thanks sweetie xx
Nutty: Will you drink us under the table though?! x
Now, ahem, as President of The Bert Fan Club, I say that Bert comes to stay with me and Mick (plus the physco cat) in County Meath for the few days.
What’s that you say EM?…you wouldn’t get him back? Hmm fair point, you probably wouldn’t!!!
K8: Ooh, we must compare notes x
[...] When he asked me this time last year if I’d consider doing him the honour (‘properly, this time – church… dress… party – the whole nine yards’) who knew that half the fun would be in the planning. I heartily recommend getting married (or remarried or blessed – don’t let the fact that you already have the ring stop you) quite a few years down the line in a relationship. Okay, so the downside is you have to pay for it yourself, and I’ll never make a wedding planner (’what do you mean the Rally of Ireland is on the same day as the wedding and we can’t use the carpark as it’ll be stuffed full of rally cars?’) but the advantages are enormous. In fact, here are my top ten reasons for planning a wedding once you’re mature enough to make all the decisions: [...]