If one does the math, one can conclude that a 23 year-old person who has been in the same relationship for 8 ½ years was about 14 years old when the whole endeavor started. This is true for my good friend Catherine, who finally married her near-decade sweetheart this Labor Day weekend in Kankakee. I, of course, was in attendance, and you can bet a fair amount of duckets that I’ve got plenty to say about it!
The first thought I had came to me when I received the invitation for this event a few months ago. I started to delve into my age-old philosophies about whether or not one can truly be in mature love at any age that ends in “teen.” See, I’ve always been of the school contending that capital “L” Love requires a lifetime of experience, heartbreak, and practice dealing with the truly insane minds of women. That any freshman in high school should believe he or she will soon be married is not only utterly incorrect, but also entirely retarded. As recently as today, I’ve seen droves of adolescent hormones frolic between lockers (and under desks, and in bathroom stalls, and on top of the principal’s desk, etc…) with absolute disregard for intelligence or foresight. It’s these same hormones that have teen pregnancy statistics through the roof! I truly believe that a 14 year-old child is incapable of true love, mostly because a majority of them only recently found out what their special areas were capable of in freshman Health class. We’ve all seen the slide shows, people…
Truth be told, that could’ve easily been the way that Catherine and Todd started out their courtship, dry humping around every corner (I can’t speak of these things for certain—I can only guess. No offense towards anyone in particular. You understand). But the interesting thing is that after dating for 102 months, Love (with a capital “L”) can actually grow from the pre-pubescent infatuations that flourish in high schools across the country. Catherine and Todd not only look like they should be on an Abercrombie bag somewhere, but they also really, really love each other. Because I realized this at the wedding this weekend, I was forced to change my philosophy just a tish. I am still rather cynical towards adolescent-libido-satiation, but I feel much more confident in the fact that once in every great while, something exponentially more substantial can come from it. Congratulations to the Newlyweds!
Something else that came to the front of my mind this weekend was that I suck at getting myself ready for wedding situations. I had planned on taking Amy with me to this thing, but hadn’t talked over any of the details with her until the night prior to the Big Show. This resulted in a spiraling downfall of confusion and Damn-I’m-Screwedness the likes of which have been unparalleled in the annals of history. It is possible that I’m exaggerating a teensy little bit, but regardless, it appeared at the time that I would be unable to get a gift (I’m like the King Chain Smoker of procrastination sometimes), get Amy home where all her dress clothes were, then into Kankakee in time for the wedding. However somehow, my girlfriend and I summoned all of our brain strength (most of which emanated from HER noggin) and came up with a plan that worked, and everything was sorted out. Still, the stress made me never want to procrastinate again. We’ll see how far THAT resolution gets, eh?
Early Saturday morning, I went to Target and rummaged through what little gift selection was left in the gift registry, and I not only made my purchase, but also bought some dashing wrapping paper and a bow to boot, which all sounded a lot straighter at the time. Amy showed me some ancient gift-wrapping tradition passed down millions of generations, dating back to the very first women, which were plankton with aprons (not really, but the visual makes me giggle). I don’t know where women learn these things, but before it was all said and done, I had this beautifully wrapped gift that looked more delicious than even the wedding cake. I would’ve eaten either, honestly. When it came time to drop my gift off at the table, it just so happened that my gift was the most extravagantly wrapped of them all! Of course, I was in competition with the likes of one Mr. Blake Randles, an old junior high buddy who wrapped his gift in Christmas paper. This kind of thing is too good to make up.
So, I guess all-in-all, the Wedding Weekend was something of a success. The whole gift fiasco turned out okay, I was able to spend some time with old friends (big shout-outs to B. Randles, Mego-Meter, Bree Pah-cooch, Cousin Jo, and AkkaNate), I got a wonderful slow dance in with The Girl, and (the proverbial cherry on the sundae) there was free steak! I had a great weekend, but more importantly, I learned a very valuable lesson about procrastination.
Now, I really should stop writing because I have about thirty American Literature tests to grade, and I’ve been putting them off all night.