I am getting married in five days. Five. I don't even need two hands to count down the days now (at least I don't think I do, but as you know, I was never very good at math).
You must be shocked. I didn't think we would survive the election, either. It wasn't easy to be on opposite sides of the voting ballot, but Mark and I made it because our hearts are full of love (translation: our guts are full of wine).
So now I am stuffing my suitcase for our destination wedding and trying to figure out how to pack a wedding gown for a flight. I have applied for my wedding license and picked out earrings and some sort of uber-sexy, nude, stretchy, thighs-to-boobs undergarment that sucks in all the Halloween candy and hides panty lines. I have confirmed the preacher, the photographer, and most importantly, the hairdresser. I have had no less than 25 panic attacks. In other words, sh#t's gettin' real.
Unless I pull a Julia Roberts/Kiefer Sutherland wedding escape, I will be married before Thanksgiving. Then I can wear stretchy pants for the rest of my life, stop shaving my legs on cold days and stock up on granny panties. Just kidding, honey! (Pssst, ladies. You know I'm not.)
I was walking with my 10-year-old son the other day, and he quipped, "Well, Mom, are you ready for the best day of your life... again?"
Out of the mouths of babes, eh?
Honestly, I am scared. But I would be worried if I wasn't. This is the second time I have climbed aboard the marriage carousel, and I want to ride.. and ride.. and ride. I won't let go when the world whizzes by, and I feel dizzy. I won't let go on those days when I wonder if he holds the reins as tight as I hold mine. I won't let go when the music begins to die. I won't let go.
Because while neither of us is perfect (he's a Republican) -- and long-term relationships are a heck of a lot of work -- I love him.
He is my music...
My cake companion...
And my dance partner...
He is the Harry to my Sally -- my old college friend, who stole my heart when he bought me a cookie (turns out, I'm easily bought if chocolate chips are involved).
We were friends for a long time. And then we weren't. And then we fell in love.
So while yes, I am scared, I also know Mark is the one. That guy who sat behind me in Constitutional law 20 years ago is the guy I want to spend my next 20 years with... and then 20 more.
I will take a deep breath next week; toss back a mojito; and walk across the sand to meet him by the ocean. I will trust that he we will take care of me. And I will take care of him.
It had to be you.
Here's to happy endings, Harry. Love, Sally.