I have a confession to make. I have not been planning/dreaming of my wedding since I was six years old. There are no scrapbooks, files, dog-eared wedding magazines from the ‘80’s. The first and only time I made any kind of short-lived scrapbook, I glued my fingers together. True story.
Two and a half years ago, I began to picture myself married. To Sarge. Being married, that is. Not the wedding.
And so, when we began to discuss what the actual wedding might look like, I had only a few ideas:
I’d like to get married outside
He’d be in a
And my dress and I would sit comfortably in my chair, at the same time.
With more butterflies than flowers around
This is the list we took venue-shopping a few weeks ago.
Now. I’d heard that people selling their services don’t like to talk to the groom and direct everything to the bride. We went to three places. Two people directed their questions to both of us. Super cool. One person spoke only to Sarge. Not cool. He was a bit confused when we both answered back. Which was cool.
The thing is this. Sarge isn’t marrying himself. I would be totally supportive if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He wants to marry me. So, yes, Mr Co-ordinator who doesn’t like his job, that makes me the bride. Disabled people get married, too. I read it online somewhere.
For me, this means that if we were to get married outside, I’d need a flat aisle. No carpets over grass. We’d even make a platform. But we’d have to be allowed to use it. Not being allowed to use it would be a little thing called a deal-breaker. That means we’re going to take our money and our wedding somewhere else.
We have provisionally booked an indoor venue more beautiful than any picture I could have pasted in a scrapbook, if I had one. Which I don’t.
I do, however, have some Pinterest boards, which are less messy. Maybe.
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