Til Death--Or Faulty Memory--Do Us Part

October 6, 2010

This weekend, a perfectly fine time on the porch with neighbor Jody was nearly ruined by talk of wedding photos. Normally, a topic like this wouldn't upset me, but the fact that I had absolutely no idea in the world where my wedding photos were...well, that left a funny taste in my mouth. Not "funny hah hah," either.

What does it mean when a person who otherwise assumes she's enjoying her 21st year of marriage can't find evidence the event actually took place? And, when said photos weren't surfacing, I realized I couldn't even locate the words to describe the event.

What did your dress look like?

It was white and kind of longish.

Did you wear a veil?

Yeah. It was white and kind of shortish.

What did your bridesmaids wear?

Dresses with flowers on them. They were black and kind of middling. The dresses, not the bridesmaids.

Sometimes, I wonder what it is I value anyway. I mean, I really enjoyed my wedding, even though I showed little interest in the details of the event. I pretty much let my mom dress me for the big day, a decision which, through the years, has proven to be a more successful approach than dressing myself. The one detail I remember caring a lot about was the menu. And then, when the night finally rolled around, I was lucky to get a handful of aged celery sticks and a lukewarm wedding weanie on my plate.

Fortunately, Allison knew where the wedding "album" was. I say "album" but it was more like a 45 rpm, small with just a couple of hits on it. Bob the Picture Man took our photos, mostly because he was cheap. He charged nothing to make us pose all night, asking only that we order at least $100 in photos. As I recall, my family managed to order $101.13 in photos, thus the reason Jody only needed about 45 seconds to scan through one of the most significant days of my life.

There's something to be said for a tightwad.