That really doesn't roll off the tongue, does it?
I'm neck deep in wedding planning, something that when I was a young man I never dreamed I would find myself doing. At the moment, I'm trying to pull together our invitations. Given that Cavin is unyielding on having platinum wedding bands -- as he points out, it's one purchase we're making that's intended to last forever, as opposed to a house, a car or a plasma tv -- I'm looking for acceptable points to trim the budget a bit. Thanks to the miracles of desktop publishing, high-quality ink-jet printers and a wide selection of do-it-yourself wedding planners at Michael's crafts store, I've gotten the family invitation to the ceremony designed and I'm getting ready to move onto the more numerous invitations to the celebration/reception after ceremony.
We've decided, obviously, to split the event. The actual wedding ceremony will pretty much be a Buddhist affair -- hence the awkward title of this post -- at which we'll gather at the altar here in our home, and a representative from each of our families will say something, then we'll say something, and then we'll be married. I think. I've held fast that there must be some point in the ceremony at which the marriage becomes irrevocable. Sure, it's just a symbol, but that's all marriage ceremonies really are at heart anyway. But while I'm happy enough to take a pass on the more elaborate ceremonies of my own religious heritage, a part of me still needs someone to declare, "It's done."
Or, "God help you." Whichever fits the bill at the time.
So, now that I've got the invitations together, I suppose I should actually get together some of my family's addresses. Man, I could use a little Martha Stewart infusion right about now.