‘Til Death Do I Part

I own three bridesmaid dresses. I’ve been to countless wedding ceremonies. I’ve happily purchased hundreds of dollars worth of gifts for my friends’ celebratory passages into traditional family life.

Most of those unions have lasted. Some have not.

With my 40th coming up in just a few weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about about time, and fate, and the very different, and sometimes unexpected, paths our lives all take.

However I got here, this is my life. I embrace it wholeheartedly. And I wonder, where’s the ceremony for singles who have found in themselves the one they’ve been looking for all along? What about the ones who, for better or worse, never do marry another?

I’d like to think that someday I will find someone to have and to hold. I do hope so. (Especially after getting to know so many of you married mamas through your blogs.) But, what if I don’t? It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

Because I’m happy. I actually want what I have. And although occasionally, I do pine for little things here and there, in reality, I know all I need is family. No matter what shape it takes.

Hell, I may just wind up marrying myself.

I’d certainly never be accused of marrying for money. And there’s no one who’d love MP more. I’d never cheat on myself, and I’d never have to worry about divorce. I wouldn’t have a choice but to work through the hard times.

Not only would it symbolically celebrate my love affair with my daughter, it would serve as a reminder of my commitment to giving myself what I would give to a spouse. Love, time and respect.

I’ve got it all worked out.

1. THE PROPOSAL
Executed flawlessly. Because I’m a mind reader, I’d know exactly how I’d always imagined it. Definitely a story worth telling over and over.

And over.

And over.

It was so incredibly romantic … I was at dinner, and during dessert, I got down on one knee, and in front of a roomful of people, declared my love for myself, and asked me to marry me. Total shock. I had NO idea it was coming!

2. THE ENGAGEMENT
Then, the announcement in the local paper. (Is it just me or is this oddly disturbing? Not to break the mojo I got goin’, but it’s kinda givin’ me the heebs. I’d delete it altogether, but don’t have the heart, considering the countless minutes that went into it … I digress.)

3. THE SHOWER
Bring on the swag! I could use some nice Cephalon.

4. THE PARTY
After a short plane trip, I’d meet up with my best girls in Vegas for the bachelorette party. We’d party ’til dawn and I’d flirt with sailor boys on my last night of freedom. More than likely, I’d wind up dirty dancing with someone named Raoul. Which is unfortunate.

How do you like my multi-colored hair extensions? They only lasted a few hours.

Somewhere between the pic above and me waking up with an ‘Official Tattoo Inspector’ t-shirt, this happened.

Original photo borrowed from these guys.

I’m guessing the storm troopers flanking me are aforementioned sailor boys? It’s all a bit hazy. My friends are no help.

Not only did I lose a few pounds, apparently I picked up a shiny new belly tat to go with the shirt.

5. THE WEDDING
And after all that, of course, the big day.

Original photo borrowed from these guys.

There would be my beautiful MP in pale pink taffeta, standing by my side. Next to her, three bridesmaids — one for each lovely dress in my closet. (‘Memba those dresses waaaaay back at the beginning?) Lovely dresses which will now [gleefully] be returned their lovely rightful owners. One Wild West prostitute decked out in hot pink satin and black lace; one long drab olive remnant of the Pearl Jam years; and a little slinky black velvet number no one (including myself) will be able to fit into.

And following the vows …

I take me, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, ’til death do I part.

… an amazing reception complete with dinner, drinks and a Dollar Dance. Bobo would spend the night shamelessly hitting on my friends. Uncle Pauly would play bartender and general all-around bad influence. (He’s a new dad with another on the way. He doesn’t get out much. You know how it goes.) Grammy and Poppy would call it an early night and be home in bed by 10.

And me? After tossing the bouquet, I’d hop in the Jeep and ride off into the sunset with MP cheering from her carseat.

And we’d live happily ever after.