Five years ago today, I married Ravi.
Our wedding was lovely. We had it at historic home in Boston by the Public Garden (The Gamble Mansion, then owned by the Boston Center for Adult Education, but which has since been sold and I think is *sob* being turned into condos as we speak).
But five years out, when I asked Ravi what he remembered most about the wedding, I was amused by his answers
- The gazpacho in the cucumber cup was awesome
- I remember not eating a lot
- That guy who cut his hand
That guy who cut his hand…
Allow me to share this story, rather than a sappy tale of “I married my best friend” (although I did).
So we had our ceremony, watched the JP sign the marriage license and the wedding party is walking over to the Public Garden for our formals. Ravi and I were last among the group as we’d been stopping for random photos, along with my MOH’s who were carrying the train to keep it from getting dirty.
We were crossing the street when a fire truck wails by and stops in front of the Gamble Mansion.
“That doesn’t look good” someone said.
An ambulance screams to a stop behind the fire truck.
“That really doesn’t look good” someone else says, and we begin to worry.
My Father in Law dashes back to the Gamble to find out if an elderly relative had become ill or what on earth might be happening.
A sous-chef had badly cut his hand and had to be escorted to the hospital.
When you’re in the midst of planning a wedding, you become obsessed about the shade of blue for the table cloths or you do stupid things like hand make all your Save the Date Cards (5+ hours of work, two complete in tears breakdowns, three runs to Target for more supplies) or handpaint over 40 photo frames (our tables were named after places we’d been and had photos of us there as centerpieces). You put so much effort into making it “perfect.”
No wedding is ever perfect.
But when all is said and done, it’s stuff like the dude who cut his hand that you remember.
Or, in my case, I will confess to remembering how awesome it felt to finally get out of the corset and to wash my hair once we got back to the hotel room.
We’re such romantics…
For whatever reason, I’m having trouble linking a wedding picture from flickr, so I’ll just say go here for more wedding pictures and such than you’ll ever want to look at.