On this day six years ago, I woke up to find clouds overhead in the St. George desert. My bridesmaids still didn't have shoes to wear with their dresses, and I discovered that my wedding shoes had been inadvertently packed away in a box, lost in the black hole storage unit. I too, was shoeless. So my Mom, obviously irritated, went to find shoes for us while we went to get our hair done. The hairdresser sighed at my grown-out highlights, muttering some comment about ruining her up-do. She glanced at my unpolished nails and asked me what I planned to do with them. Looking at my blank stare, she rolled her eyes and pulled a set of fake nails out of her pouch. But I didn't care. I wasn't one of those girls who had fantasized about her wedding day since birth. In fact, three months ago was the first time I had ever heard of a color scheme. Highlights, shoes, and nails were all details that any normal bride probably would have obsessed over. I felt kinda sheepish while she applied my shiny new nails, but I really could have cared less. All I knew, was that today, I was getting married to a guy I loved more than life itself.
So when we returned home late from hair and make-up, my already irate mother started to boil over because for some unknown reason, she had scheduled pictures to be taken before the ceremony that we were now incredibly late for. Determined not to let anything bother me today, I dressed as quickly as I could, but fate has a way of pushing irate mothers to new heights. While dressing into my gown, a cut on my thumb got caught and ripped off a scab that put very noticeable dots of blood all over my newly pressed wedding dress. If my mother had boiled over earlier, this was something probably resembling hysterics. I don't remember much, except that we didn't talk on the car ride there and my dress was spot free. But I didn't care. I only wanted to see Tim.
The pictures that were supposed to be taken outside in front of the temple were totally impossible because a flash flood and a monsoon of rain decided to make it's debut for the first time in months. I finally discovered why Flood Street was called Flood Street which you conveniently had to drive down to get to the reception. We also discovered that the wrong address had been printed on the invitations for our reception when people started driving through the flood to the adjacent church a few blocks away. That one kinda frustrated me. But all I really wanted and cared about was holding me tight, smiling at every hurdle. And it's pretty much been that way ever since.
Looking back now, I wish I could do it all over again. I've developed a little more taste for nice hair and color schemes and there's a ton that I would do differently. We couldn't help the weather, but it would have been nice to not have gotten soaked on our wedding day. Maybe that's why so many smart brides choose spring or summer weddings over fall. But, the guy in the tux would still be the same. I would still choose him over everything else. And although the actual day was a semi-disaster, I still look back thinking I was the luckiest bride in the world.