Happy hot Wednesday, folks.
When the digital temperature readout in my car dips below thirty degrees Fahrenheit or so, it alternates between the outside temperature and flashing the word ICE! to let me that the conditions are right for slick and dangerous roads. Today when I drove home from work, however, it was alternating between 111° and SATAN! Really, it was that hot today here in smoky California. I had briefly considered going up into the attic after work to run a length of CAT5 cable to the new satellite receiver – but even at midnight it’d be like a blast furnace up there. So, yeah, it’s totally hot here.
Today (which was yesterday, as you’re reading this), Sharaun and I have been married for eight years.
Eight years ago today I was fiddling with my rented tuxedo behind closed doors at the back of a church I didn’t go to. My best friend and best man Jeremy was there with me, we were probably making coarse jokes. I can remember we’d walked through the motions and standing positions the day prior, and I shuffled out the side door to the front of the waiting crowd. Sharaun looked beautiful, and, as I often do at weddings, especially, it turns out, my own, I had to bite back tears watching her part the sea of onlookers walking towards me. I remember little of the vows, other than that they were simple and traditional, and that the whole thing was over in fifteen minutes or so. I do remember when our officiant asked the maid of honor for the ring, Sharaun instead reached into her cleavage to retrieve it – and the crowd let forth much mirth.
The reception is a blur, I barely remember it. I do recall taking my friends’ new daughter onto the dancefloor and shuffling around with her (I loved that girl to death). I remember we had no booze at the fête, y’know, to keep The Lord happy (which conversely kept my highschool buddies quite unhappy, and was the reason for their early exit, I’m sure). I remember the food being good, although probably ultimately unremarkable, and I remember hating every minute of dancing (I loathe dancing, I’m just not made for it). And, finally, I remember driving off to spend our first night as a wedded couple in the airport at the hotel before we flew away for our honeymoon. That’s it though, just a series of memories, mostly a blur.
I would’ve posted one of our wedding pictures as an accompaniment to this blog, but Sharaun has locked them away in a vault somewhere never to be seen by human eyes again. Yes, she hates them that much. So much even, that she’s, quite seriously, suggested we reshoot them now one time when we’re back in Florida. Now, we’ll not be doing that – that much is sure – but you can see how much she hates them.
Tonight, on our way to drop Keaton off with Kerry so we could enjoy an anniversary dinner together, she said, “I wanna come with you dad!” “No,” I said, “This is a special dinner for Mommy and Daddy.” Sharaun chimed in with, “It’s Mommy and Daddy’s anniversary.” (We’ve been telling her this for a few days.) She replied, “I know! Because Mommy and Daddy are married!” And then, after a slight pause to think, “Daddy, I want to get married someday.” (I’m not kidding, she totally said that!). “Oh,” I said, curiously, “Who would you like to marry someday?” “I want to marry my Daddy.”
Tell you what though, that day eight years ago was far and away the best decision I’ve ever made.
Also written on this day...
- worth a thousand words - 2007