I married a Cardboard Cutout, says the Jailbait Bride

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(if this looks familiar, it’s because I post a version of it every year)

It was 19 years ago today that Douglas Stormer married MontiLee Points at the Silver Bell Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas, Nevada.

We had saved up our money for over a year, planned two and a half days on the train, three days in Vegas and one week in Santa Rosa, CA. We had our license, our chapel, and my mom.

My dress never arrived, but this is Vegas and you can get anything if you have the cash. We rented our spiffy outfits from San Francisco Sally’s, a wedding rental joint on LVB. For one day (and $175.00), I got to be a princess.

Inside the chapel reception area, there was another couple –  a tall, leggy Blonde with a shorter, balding gentleman. We all exchanged nervous, embarrassed looks. She wore a white mini-dress, that was summery without being slutty and she gushed over my gown. I said she looked nice too, and she told me that this was all so sudden for her, but sometimes you just know when it’s right. I nodded. She said she couldn’t stop throwing up, she was so excited. I took a small step back. There was a $500.00 deposit on the dress that I couldn’t afford to pay should something happen to it.

There were flowers waiting for us from Doug’s brother Jere. It was like his family was there with us, too.

When we arrived, we were ushered into the back area to prepare – my dress, my shoes, my veil, and my mom. It was like my prom all over again – new underwear, new stockings, a garter that matched the dress that neglected to follow us from Detroit but would work okay with this one. My mom helped me get zipped and primped, pinned the veil in place, and she cried a little. That got me started and we were bawling before we made it to the chapel doors.

There is always that moment before the service, when you serious begin to think about what you’re doing. What if this isn’t the one? What if I can’t live up to what he needs? What if…? What if…? Then the music starts and all you can think of is putting one foot in front of the other, and

goodness was it always this warm in here …
that arrangement looks like we just won the Belmont Stakes …
if every man would wear a tux every day, dating would become obsolete …
the earth is spinning without me …

getting down the aisle without tripping on the dress. The event was being video taped, so whatever stupid move I pulled would be recorded forever and ever, played back for family and friends and blackmailers for eternity.

Doug whispered to me, “Don’t cry – we’re happy,” and we were. We are. As the manly men on the TV say after big wins in sports, “our eyes were moist.”

I made it down the aisle without tripping or throwing up or passing out. Mom gave me away, witnessing her eldest daughter’s wedding. The minister made my name sound exotic, and I had never been so happy to be saddled with it. There could be no other name that rolled off his tongue like warm honey.

We did it. Said our “I Do’s” witnessed before my mom and the minister, and whichever god wasn’t dozing in the warm April sun.

Afterwards there were pictures, and the photographer complained (half-heartedly) non-stop about my train. Us girls and our trains were going to be the death of him, he said.

Because everything is a gimmick in Vegas, as thanks for choosing the Silver Bell Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas Nevada, we were given two etched champagne flutes – one says Bride and one says Groom – and a chilled bottle of Champagne. We still drink from them every year.

The chapel sent the negatives of our photos a year later, claiming that there was a storage issue and we could either keep them or toss them. I’m glad we kept the proofs because they only managed to send us the negatives of 7 of our photos – the other 5 are of the couple that was married behind us.

I hope they are as happy as we are.

Nineteen years was the ceiling reached by my parents’ marriage, though really it was over much sooner. It doesn’t always work out, and I’m blessed they kept it civil for the sake of their kids. I love them both for that. Douglas and I are both children of divorce, and we were old enough to see why our parents’ couldn’t work it out – and probably in both cases it was for the best.

We’re also our own people and we know we aren’t our parents.

This union isn’t perfect, but it wasn’t meant to be, because perfection is complacency, and I appreciate something more when I have to work for it. I may not always like the work, but the rewards like a smile or a laugh or a soft sigh more than make up for the callouses.

We take it day by day and appreciate everything we’re given, because not everyone is as fortunate. Love is loss and sorrow and saying hello to a face that has shown you tears and smiles and anger and joy and fear, and being certain the day you’d have to say that final goodbye would break you  into a million pieces.

Nineteen years, and counting.