37 years ago at this hour I was on my way to knee-walking,

[trof]

nose-picking, Marine-crawling DRUNK.
Not squiffed, not tiddley, not away-with-the-faeries, not buzzed.
No, we're talking fighter-pilot, shit-faced D-R-U-N-K.
It was 1969, and the night before my betrothal.
I am told that I achieved total unconsciousness at approximately 22:30 hours.
(That's 10:30 p.m. for the civilians.)

At 10:45 the next morning, hungover as a goat, I presented myself at the altar of St. Mary's Episcopal Church, in Crystal Lake, Illinois.
I wore a black suit, white shirt, a conservative (fashion, not politics) tie, black knee-high socks, and highly polished black shoes. The soles were also blacked, on the advice of my uncle, the expert on all things matrimonial and haberdasherial. See, when you kneel at the altar you don't want the white soles of your brand new shoes flashing a beacon to the audience.
Oh, my uncle was GOOD.

I was sorely in need of a Bloody Beer, but, lacking that, I was supported, spiritually, emotionally, and physically by my best man, Clarence Rufus Mosely.
I'm serious. That's the guy's name.

At precisely 11:00 a.m. Helen Rose Theresa L _ _ _ _ walked down the aisle, a vision in a pastel lime green suit with matching shoes, hat, and veil. The Right Rev. Marx A. Jones officiated.

At one point I dropped the prayer book.
I was a bit nervous...and horribly hungover.
Did I mention that?
Now I was very afraid to bend over and pick it up.
I feared that I would just keep on going down and faint dead away right there, or even worse, throw up.
Through some Herculean effort I managed to retrieve the book without passing out or regurgitating.
We finished the ceremony and for the first (and so far only) time in my life I was married.

At the small reception, back in our apartment, I felt a lot better after a few glasses of champagne.
The Right Rev. Marx A. Jones felt even better, and backed into the best man's car while exiting the parking lot.

Anyway...I have never regretted my actions that day for a moment.
The wedding I'm talking about, not the so-called bachelor "party".
"Bad beginnings have good endings."
:-)

[arwalden]

1. What A Sweet, Romantic Story...

I just love stories with happy endings. :hi:

[trof]

2. Romantic? Romance was the LAST thing on my mind.

I just wanted to get well.
;-)

[trof]

3. This shall not sink.

miz t. would be pissed.
;-)

[trof]

4. Did I mention that this coupling resulted in issue?

She's almost 35 now, and our grandson will be 4 in June.
:-)

[Bunny]

5. Congrats to you and Miz T.

The very lucky Miz T, I might add! :toast:

[trof]

7. Thank you, Bunny.

I am at least as lucky, possibly moreso.
Cheers
:toast:

[supernova]

6. Aww, I love funny, sweet stories!

Congrats to you and Miz T. :grouphug: for you both. :-)

[trof]

8. Merci. Sometimes I think my life has been

a sweet, funny story.
So far, anyway.
;-)

[johnnie]

9. Congratulations on 37 years!

Very cool trof. Here's to many many more. :toast:

[trof]

11. Thank you. If she can take it, I can.

<hee>
I got her a card that says
"Why do I put up with you?"
"Oh, I guess it's because you put up with me."

I am an incurable romantic.
:loveya:

[mdmc]

10. thanks for the tale

:kick:

[trof]

12. You're welcome.

And a noodge.
<shameless>

[greatauntoftriplets]

13. Congrats on 37 happy years together....

and surviving your wedding-day hangover.

:toast:

[trof]

14. Thanks, I'm finally over it.

killer

[mcscajun]

15. You know what's wrong with you?

Absolutely Nothing. At least, 37 years later, there's nothing wrong. :)

Happy Anniversary. :party: :party: :party: