Well, it's official. Paul and I said "I do." It still hasn't sunk in yet. I am Mrs. Paul. Or to be exact, I'm Mrs. Dick. Paul's first name is actually Richard. But he goes by his middle name. Catch up - things are going to get more complicated.
So, where was I? Ah yes, the big day.
Despite getting a very big case of the "oh-my-god-I-am-so-nervous" gitters just before I walked down the isle, things went smoothly. Well, "smoothly" is a nice way of saying it all worked out well in the end. A quick pep talk from my sis, and a bitch slap from my photographer did the trick.
We laughed. We cried. Paul couldn't get the ring on my finger, so I yelled, "push honey, push." Ah memories.
I did not get seasick over the side of the ship. So that was good. Although I drank a wee bit too much wine. Well, "wee bit" is a nice way of saying Lindsay Lohen would have told me to slow down. Not so good. But in my defense, I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Luckily Paul didn't seem to notice. He was too busy looking at me with goo goo eyes.
At the end of the evening, we did something we've never done before (and were saving until our wedding night) - we danced! Geeze, what were you thinking? Sure, it was slightly awkward, and uncoordinated but what can one expect for their first time dancing together? We felt like teenagers.
We didn't get to bed until almost 3am. I didn't want the night to end. It was all so fabulous and amazing. After all of those bad dates with jerks, it was all worth it for this moment. For this man.