After three decades of marriage, one would assume any differences would have somehow merged to form a somewhat meet in the middle, marital evolution, if you will.....NOT even close!
Thirty six years ago, I had no idea that saying "I do" and pledging to "love until death do us part" meant embarking on a lifelong learning curve! Before the end of the reception, the dynamics of my little world and routine changed. Like all young couples, we faced and endured many challenges.
Over the years, I have discovered that there is something to be said for the solace found in a relationship that is comfortable while remaining to be fun! Relationships suffer from a variety of life storms. Trials come and go and disagreements or, dare I say, arguments happen. LOVE is constant, while LIKE, on the other hand, is subjective and depends on the day. Oh, c'mon, you know it's true.
Time passes quickly, so it's best to remember that humor is rarely appreciated in the present, but often hysterical in the future.
Life before Hubs
Life in the 80's was fun, simple and carefree. It was a space in time where fashion was everything. From high waisted jeans to jelly shoes (in every color) to high heels and western wear. Western wear was me. Decked out in satin shirts with fringe on the sleeves, tight blue jeans, cowboy (shit-kicker) suede boots, and yes, even a belt with my name engraved; suffice it to say, I dressed the part.
I shared an apartment with my best friend Gracie, who also happened to be my manager at the bookstore. Gracie was more of a big sister who watched out for me and my spontaneous personality. She and I spent most of our free time clubbing, munching on happy hour appetizers, overindulging on cheap drinks, and line dancing the night away…to country music of course.
Mixing adult-beverages with my aforementioned spontaneous personality was not a good combination. As you can imagine, the two failed to complement each other, and it never seemed to bode well. Alcohol often skewed my perception, revealing an optical illusion of "the most gorgeous man on the face of the earth". Fortunately for me, Kathy would insist we go grab a bite to eat at some 24-hour diner, giving me time to regain my senses and dodge another bullet.
One cold February evening, while out on the town, Gracie met Joe. They hit it off instantly. They were inseparable and it wasn't long before we all knew she had met her "Mr. Right." After dating for a few months, they announced their engagement. Just like that, the wedding planning was underway.
Gracie has been and always will be a perfectionist; me on the other hand, not so much. The date was set for July. The songs, the Church, the reception, and the honeymoon, all planned with meticulous detail. I was proud to be her maid of honor. Little did we know, our lives were about to change……forever.
Time passed fast. July had arrived and it was now one week before the wedding. Being bestowed with the title, “Maid of Honor” was a huge responsibility. I couldn’t just throw any ‘ol bachelorette party, I had to throw the BEST bachelorette party. Of course, what better place to throw a party that at our favorite club. Everyone loves a bachelorette party and this one would be a party to remember. The house was packed. Friends brought nice and naughty presents, including negligees, gift cards, and gag gifts that were risqué enough to make a musician blush. No bachelorette party would be complete without a male stripper, and this encore performance would forever be etched into the minds of those in attendance.
Within minutes the band began to play, and as if on cue, our hired Casanova pulled Gracie onto the dance floor and began his erotic dance. The whole place began clapping, cat call whistling and cheering as he seductively began to unbutton and remove clothing, ultimately stripping to skivvies. Gracie's face was a mix of embarrassment, shock, and laughter. It was all good fun, and I must say, the hit of the night. This would be her last hurrah as a single lady; this time next week, she would be a married woman.
As luck, or should I say, my luck would have it, I caught a bad cold the day before the wedding and with it, a horrible cough. “This couldn’t be happening,” I thought. “I’m going to ruin the wedding!” Somehow managing to make it through the rehearsal, the next morning, the cough had worsened. I knew I had to jump into action. There was no time for a trip to the doc, so I opted to self-medicate. Grabbing some cough syrup from the medicine cabinet, I quickly downed two big tablespoons, ignoring the dosage recommendation of two teaspoons. My impromptu reasoning assured me this was the right thing to do. Wedding time was approaching fast and there was no time to follow directions. (Kids, don't try this at home). Unfortunately, it was only afterward that I realized I had taken an expectorant instead of a suppressant. Proving once again that actions taken in haste result in mistakes.
At the church, coughing my head off and agonizing over my mistake, I had to get this right. Maybe I was hallucinating, but I’d rather refer to my remedy idea as a revelation of sorts. I asked one of the groomsmen to run to the pharmacy across the street to pick up a cough syrup with a suppressant. After-all, it only made sense that to counter two tablespoons of expectorant, I would need four tablespoons of suppressant. In hindsight, to say this solution left me a little incoherent would be an understatement.
Disoriented, no doubt, but still having wits enough to recognize this might not be a good thing, I had to let Gracie know what was going on. As is Gracie's nature, she was frantically running around the church, tackling last minute details when I stopped her and asked her to scope out the church to see if we could find someone about my size to wear the dress. With a determined look of sheer fear, disgust, and a tad of anger, she shook her head and said, “you’re doing this!” The wedding had to go on and I was just going to have to suck it up buttercup and pull up my big girl panties.
As you may have discerned by now, sound judgement is not my strongest suit. However, in this case, I had to be prepared. Before the ceremony began, I proactively placed a couple of cough drops in my hand (just in case). Within minutes, the music began. Holding the arm of my accompanying groomsman, it was time to make the trek down the aisle. Reaching the alter, we split ways and took our reserved place on the platform. The familiar tune of the wedding march played and Gracie, escorted by her father, walked down the aisle. The setting sun shined through the stained-glass windows of the church displaying a shadow silhouette of beauty. Slowly gliding down the aisle, Gracie's long white wedding gown flowed as her veil rippled softly from a few whisps from the air conditioning vent. The romance of the moment was captured through Joe's eyes as he focused on her alone.
Once she reached the alter, Gracie handed me her bouquet. The bride and groom sealed their promise to love and to cherish with the traditional lighting of the unity candle. Afterward, the preacher, presented the new “Mr. and Mrs.”
I breathed a sigh of relief at having made it. Relieved everything went smooth with no coughing fits, flaws or mishaps….or so I thought. While holding the bouquet during the unity candle lighting part of the ceremony, unbeknownst to me, the two cough drops had melted in my hand, transferring the sticky goodness to her bouquet and, subsequently to her hands upon the return of the bouquet. The look on the faces of the crowd after shaking hands to congratulate the new bride was priceless, for lack of a better word.
There is little doubt that most friendships would have ended then and there, but Gracie seemed to take it all in stride. The photographer took a few more pictures at the church and soon we were all reception bound. All went well, and to top it all off, I caught the bouquet! Big deal, it was time to dispel the “next to married” myth anyway.
Meeting Future Hubs
After the reception, somehow forgetting I had a bad cold, a few friends and I decided to continue the party elsewhere. We piled into a friend’s car and wound up at a local nightspot to listen to some music. The atmosphere was nice, and the house band was good.
During the break, the drummer wandered over to our table to introduce himself. We talked a bit until time for him to return to the stage. During the next several breaks, he came back over and sat at our table. Before his last set, he asked if I would like to meet him at another club located in the same building. Trust me, no one was more surprised than me when I said yes! He was a musician for crying out loud. Most of my friends were musician crazy, I was not. I went to great lengths to avoid dating musicians, and had it not been for my cough syrup induced impairment, I probably would not have gone in the first place.
My friends and I arrived at the second club. I met up with my new-found drummer dude. I admit it was a little disconcerting to learn that drummers make the sound of metronome when they’re dancing, who knew? At the end of the evening, Drummer Dude asked for my number. I told him it was “in the book” (it was the 80’s, no cell phones). To my surprise, Drummer Dude called the very next day and woke me up. What he did not know then (but does now), is that when I’m suddenly awakened, I’m not really all there until I’ve had a pot of coffee. Our conversation went something like this: “Who is this?” I asked. “Um, I met you last night at the club. I thought I’d call to see if you wanted to go to a movie next week?” “Oh yeah, I remember now. A movie sounds good, does it include dinner?” “I guess it can”, he said with a mix of apprehension and hesitation. “Okay, sounds like a plan.”
The next Sunday, he actually showed up! We went to dinner, AND a movie. After the movie, we went back to my apartment and, believe it or not, just talked and laughed for hours; no moves or awkward moments, just talking and laughing until the wee hours of the morning. Drummer dude was different from other guys I had dated, a nice kind of different.
On the less attractive side, Drummer dude was a broke musician who lived in a converted garage apartment. He took the bachelor thing to a whole different level. He had a futon, one lamp, one plate, one bowl, and one pan; that was pretty much it. He lived on fast food, bagged noodles, and frozen entrees. Still, there was something unique and special about him. He was kind, caring and could make me laugh. When we were together, it felt like I had known him forever. Not only did we love being around each other, we thought we had stumbled upon the perfect, commitment free relationship. Within weeks, we were talking or seeing each other almost every day. Then without warning, it happened. About a month and half into dating, he dropped the “L” bomb.
“Nooooooo! Look, we can like each other, we can even like each other a whole lot, but not the “L” bomb.” I had been burned before. The “L” bomb destroyed relationships, wreaked of commitment, brought with it expectations, and always lead to parting ways. We chalked it up to a momentary setback in our relationship and life went on….without the “L” word.
Never say Never
In the blink of an eye, summer was gone. October colors were on full display, our friendship strengthened and once again, and the “L” bomb was dropped. This time, however, it was reciprocated. My deer in the headlight look revealed my shock. With a nervous laugh, I asked, “So, now what?”
“I guess we could get married?" Not exactly the proposal every girl dreams about, but there it was and from that moment on, we were engaged. Of course, a ring was a necessity; however, ring shopping on a musician’s income meant options were limited. We visited a local discount store where you could buy everything from engagement rings to toilet paper, and they offered lay-a-way. We selected a beautiful little $250 marquis cut diamond and set the date for April.
Whirlwind Romance
We definitely had a whirlwind romance. Met in July, engaged in October, and married in April. Our wedding, not unlike our meeting had a few hiccups. From my veil being in the way preventing me from blowing out the candle signaling the end of my single life (Drummer Dude had to extinguish my single life), to the photographer running so far behind that the guests were leaving before we arrived at the reception. We barely had time to cut the cake, smile for the obligatory toast and left. Starved, we stopped at a drive-thru on the way to our hotel honeymoon suite.
We arrived at the hotel, only to discover that our Honeymoon Suite had been given to someone else, prom kids no less. The hotel was filled with prom kids (apparently April is prom month throughout the country; who knew?) How the hotel "accidentally" gave away our Honeymoon Suite, that was reserved six months prior, is still a mystery to me. We were given another room on the sixth floor. This ordinarily would not have been a big deal; however, the prom teens apparently thought it funny to jam the elevators. Taking it all in stride, up six flights of stairs we went.
At last, we made it to the door of our room. Trying to follow tradition, Drummer due tried to carry me over the threshold. I only weighed about 110 pounds, but so did he. While he did manage to technically pick me up enough that my feet were off the floor, we more or less fell across the threshold.
The hectic antics of the day were coming to an end. It was time to pop the cork on the champagne and let the honeymoon commence, except for one thing; the champagne was chilling alright, in our original room. (Lucky prom kids).
Hubs, a.k.a. Drummer dude, now less than happy, trudges down the stairs to purchase champagne. While he’s gone, I decide to slip into my Honeymoon negligee. Uh oh, another minor, unexpected obstacle presented itself. My professionally applied, long porcelain nails made my attempted attire transition both comical and impossible, so much for surprises. Hubs returned with champagne and was trying to keep from laughing as he assisted with my wardrobe malfunction.
Back to where we were. I light a cigarette, he pours the champagne, our eyes meet and for a moment in time we are mesmerized as we toast each other and our new life. Suddenly, I hear, "your’ on fire!", I'm thinking, "Well, yes, I am" and that's when I realize that my fake fingernail is on fire. Staring at the flame, I panicked and stuck my thumb in the glass of champagne. Suffice it to say that the song “You Light up my Life” took on a whole new meaning. In my defense, I didn’t know porcelain nails and polish were flammable.
And so it began, life as one. We had no idea what lay in store for our future, nor did we think about it. Welcome to the world of Mr. & Mrs.