Five years ago I fought to make it down the aisle without passing out. I wasn’t afraid of marrying you, I was afraid of the 180 people watching me marry you.
But you squeezed my hand and grinned and looked shiny and silly and I chilled out. Because it was just us. Just us super dressed up in front of a bunch of people in the church I was baptized in. The church I took my First Communion in. The church I was confirmed in. The church where my Nana’s funeral was held.
I remembered wearing white tights to church. Slipping my toes out of black Mary Jane’s to feel the sleek chill of the marble floor.
When we left the church and walked out into the sun, I felt more relieved than I’ve ever felt in my life. (Until I started panicking all over again about dancing with you in front of everyone.)
That night, at our reception, once everyone got crazy, I toed my shoes off and danced in stockings.
That night, in our hotel room, it took you more than an hour to get my dress off. Daunted by buttons, you ended up swearing and I ended up crying. We had sex out of some weird obligation and then enjoyed snacks far more.
The bed was awesome. Huge.
In the morning, we left on a cruise. Husband and wife. We drank our way to Mexico, danced in an empty club, made out in hot tubs.
Five years later, from the aquarium, we watched a cruise ship leave the same port. We reminisced and wondered about taking the boys. Maybe in five years.
A lot can happen in five years.
I’m glad it’s happening with you.
Happy Anniversary, babe.
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