Sunday, September 28, 2014

    








                        Ain't Marriage Grand?










      When I think about my own weddings, there were not very many similarities to those of Amal and George. First of all, at wedding number one, my wedding party didn’t get to stay in an $1100/night hotel on a canal. Most of our guests snuggled up in their own waterbeds in Detroit. Secondly, there were no famous people attending, and none of my former beaux were invited to the ceremony. Most of them were hospitalized for exhaustion and high blood pressure after pursuing me for so many years. One was seen sitting in the parking lot sobbing, but that’s another story.George had to watch out for the four boats full of Paparazzi. I had to to hope that one photographer would show up for the reception at Papa Vinos where I got a terrific deal on the tiramisu. My parents didn’t plan a second reception in London, like Amal’s has announced. Mine were so broke after paying for the pasta, they had to take out a loan to have the house painted. No one noticed my gown except the valet who stepped on it with his greasy shoe helping me out of the car. My wedding didn’t make headlines, like George’s, but then again, I prefer to be more discreet and private about my life passages (I did the same thing when I hit menopause). 

     My second wedding took place in a City Hall office somewhere in Florida. The only people I remember who were there besides me and my temporary husband were his two obnoxious kids who ultimately ended our three-week tenure. On the way home in the car, they kicked my seat, pulled my hair and screamed in my ear. I had my hand on the door handle all the way to Toledo, and then I decided annulment was better than death by toll road.

     My third and final wedding took place in a lovely country club with 100 of our closest friends. The amazing thing is that some of them are still on our friends list over 20 years later. I remember the endearing words my husband spoke as he toasted me: “I am so happy you are all here to celebrate our marriage. After all, how many times does a guy get married? three? four?” I have recently nicknamed him “Mr. Wonderful,.” Forgiveness is the key to our longevity (unless he doesn’t clean out the pantry tomorrow).

     Marriage is a wonderful thing. I’ve spent 41 years and three weeks in this institution with no time off for good behavior. I may not live long enough to get to the golden anniversary, but if I do, I know where we will renew our vows. At $1100/night in today’s dollars, Mr. Wonderful has some serious savings to do.