Twenty eight years ago, a young man proposed to me after church, in a rose garden. Yes, it was the first day of November and bitterly cold. Yes, he had just lost his job. But I didn't care. I was in love, and before he could finish his speech, I interrupted him and said YES I will marry you, and I have the date picked out.
Oh to be young and naive again. All that mattered was that Robert had finally proposed, and I could begin the wedding plans. For years I'd wanted to be married on April 3. I'm not sure why. The only reason I can think of now was that April and the number 3 was my favourite month and number.
Does young love need to make sense? Anyhow, for two solid weeks I floated on cloud 9 until I had to come down to reality and focus on boring wedding plans. I was more interested in the honeymoon and living happily ever afterwards. I've always felt that weddings are a total waste of money. Too bad the whole ceremony couldn't be skipped...but my family wanted a lovely wedding for me, so I had to go along with it. Looking back, I do wish I could have eloped.
Oh the memories.