A Love Story, of sorts: The Bride Ate Fries.

Sorry this is late, folks. I know this post has very little to do with writing, but it has a lot to do with romance, so I figured it would be all right.

As of Thursday, I will have been married for fifteen years.

Husband and I kind of eloped during my Senior year in college, during, of all things, midterms. I say “kind of eloped” because we had planned on a big June wedding, but then we had this conversation:

Me: I think I might die if I have to invite all these people to the wedding. I’ll barf on my dress. I know I will.

Hubs: So don’t invite them all.

Me: My parents will kill me. And your mom told me her tentative list has 4oo people on it. Do you even know 400 people?

Hubs: No.

Me: Wanna go to the Chapel of Elvis? We could just go to Vegas. Let’s just forget all the shenanigans.

Hubs: You have a dress. You might regret not having a church wedding. And our moms will kill you.

Me: I don’t care about the wedding. I just want to be married.

Hubs: Me, too.

Long pause while we look at one another.

Me: September is a nice month get married.

Hubs: I want to be married yesterday, not a year from now.

Me: What are you doing on the 27th?

Hubs: Going to my Sargent’s wedding.

Me: What time?

Hubs: Ten.

Me: What are you doing after that? Say around 4:00?

Hubs: Um, going to another wedding?

Me: Really? Whose?

Hubs: Ours.

So that’s what we did. We called everyone up and told them we were getting married in three weeks. I arranged for a photographer, got flowers, ordered a cake, and got the church (a dear friend’s father was a minister) in the space of a single day.

We still upset everyone, who assumed I was pregnant. Several people said it wouldn’t last, and told us so.

The bride and the fries.

For all of that, it was the perfect wedding for us. I thought I’d be sick–everyone told me I’d be nauseous–but I wasn’t. In fact, that’s me, in my wedding dress, eating french fries. More than that, I knew every single person at the wedding, and I loved them all. I have a picture of everyone who came. Our grandmothers, all of whom have since passed on. My friends and my family. I don’t think there’s another picture anywhere of everyone in the family. We’re never all in the same place at the same time.

Since then, hubs and I have been together through all the ups and downs. Graduate degrees, new jobs, buying houses, two kids, the deaths of dear friends. We’ve had fights and disagreements, but we’ve supported one another through all of that. He’s supported me through every crack pot idea I’ve ever had, including when I told him I was going to start writing romance novels in my non-existent free time. He signed me up for my first conference, and listened to me for hours while I practiced my first pitches. He even hit send when I started cold querying.

So, as I sit here and write a wedding scene, and I wonder if my characters are being too impulsive, or if the silly scenario they’re in is actually plausible, I remember back to that day, fifteen years ago, when I ate french fries in my wedding dress. The day I looked over at Hubs and we cracked jokes during our wedding ceremony, when I laughed until I cried, drank too much champagne, never got around to eating the cake, and told my grandmother the dirtiest joke I’d ever heard–and she laughed.

My decision to get married the way I did was not in my five-year plan. In fact, Hubs wasn’t in the five-year plan at all, when I first started establishing five-year plans my Freshman year in college.

And yet, of all the plans I’ve ever made, this is the one that worked out the best.

Meggan Connors is the author of The Marker and the upcoming novella Wandering Heart.  She’d love to hear from readers. You can find her on her website, Twitter (@megganconnors) and on Facebook.

About Meggan Connors

Mother. Wife. Author. Teacher. Really, really bad soccer coach.
This entry was posted in A Memo from Meggan and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to A Love Story, of sorts: The Bride Ate Fries.

  1. Pingback: A Summation and Undead Zombie Soccer « There's a Bee in my Bodice

  2. dehelen says:

    So. You had fries with that. This is a great story! And you look darned cute in your wedding dress eating fries. You got yourself a keeper hubs. Good on you.

    • I did have fries with that! That’s a good one.

      I don’t know how I did it, but I did get myself a keeper hubs. In fact, that’s been my line since we got engaged: “I like him. I think I’ll keep him.”

      Granted, I look at that face and I’m like, “I look like such a baby. Look at those chubby cheeks!”

  3. jannashay says:

    Terrific post. I think your wedding story is romantic. Every bride should get married the way they want. You look happy and beautiful in your wedding gown and fries. Happy Anniversary. You definitely have a keeper hubs, but he also has a keeper wife.

    • Thanks, Janna.

      I never wanted the big June wedding–in fact, I don’t even like June. But his mother did like June, and mine wanted the ginormous wedding, so that was the original plan.

      Hubs has always maintained he knew I was the one, when, early in our dating history, I says I’d get married at the Chapel of Elvis.

      I have no regrets. We had fun at our wedding, and it was very me. Very us, I guess. And I think that’s how everyone does it: I hope everyone has the wedding they’re meant to have. If you’re desperate for the big wedding, have it. If you want or need something smaller, do that.

      Because that one day ends all too soon. And then you have to focus on all the data after. 🙂

      Sent from my iPhone

  4. Your post made me weep. What a beautiful, spontaneous wedding you had. I marvel at the planning and cost of huge weddings when the true focus should be the marriage. Happy 15 years, Meggan. May you be blessed with fifty more!

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