2004-06-12
I cannot sleep. I leave for the airport en route to Salt Lake City in 7 hours, and I'm only partially packed. This is no good. So here I sit, several hours after coming back from Peoria for Aunt Lynn's wedding, wishing my bed looked more inviting. I just drank a bunch of milk, so maybe it'll kick in in a few minutes. If milk even does that.I always cry at weddings. There, I said it. But only during the opening procession, and it's not like I'm sobbing hysterically and wiping my nose on the nearest relative. Just a little misty in the eyes because seriously, how can one not be at least a LITTLE moved by the look on the bride's face during the wedding march?! If you have the answer to this question, let me know, because I did it at Barb and Nick's wedding, did it at Aunt Lynn's wedding, and I'm sure I'll do it at Julie and Tim's wedding in two weeks. And don't forget Katie and Scott. And Ripple and Sarah. And no, I don't think I'm getting old.
I was ironically fortunate enough to inherit my wedding sentimentality from the least sentimental person on earth - my mother, who was Aunt Lynn's matron of honor. She didn't even make it up the aisle before the floodgates opened. Sputtering surprsisingly in cadence with "Canon in D Minor" and deathgripping her bouquet, she honest to God looked like she was walking the plank.
But that's her way. You should've seen her when she delivered a speech at my friend's Eagle Scout ceremony. All she had to do was read a list of awards he'd won and she couldn't even make it thirty seconds without excusing herself to fumble for a tissue.
Since I've just come home from a wedding, all I want to do is get married. The pageantry of the whole thing from the rehearsal dinner to the dollar dance is enough to warrant it right there. The target age is 27, but let's just say that if that's not the way the cards are going to fall, I'd be happier if they fell before the big 2-7 rather than after. That way, I'd have more springs on the beach in Florida, more Hobin family rib cook-offs, and more evenings just hanging out with my wife. And 38 biological children. Or so.
Megan is my role model. She and David live not too fancy but not too modest in their own home with a kid and dogs and money troubles (but who doesn't) across the street from her best friend and his brother who are ALSO married with a kid and it ain't perfect but you never know what the next 40 or 50 years will bring and from what you've seen and know you've got a pretty solid feeling that they'll be together to see what is brought. They've got it figured out.
I could only hope to be that lucky. And the question may have arisen as you read this: "Andy, what happens if you NEVER get married?" Well. If that ever becomes the state of affairs, I'm sure I'll...
Whoops, milk's kicking in after all. Back in a week for the muthafucking YOUTH CLASS in STL. HOLLER.
-Andy