About the ceremony, here’s one of the things no one told me: that my legs would forget, the second I got to the end of the aisle and stood next to my groom, that their main purpose is to support you. I shook and trembled. I shook and trembled something bad. But the hands remembered what they do best, and Mr. Petunia offered his to me to hold. There was rarely a moment of the ceremony where we weren’t touching.
Or when I wanted to take my eyes off him:
Unless it was to kiss.
And what a kiss! I must sheepishly admit to having asked Mr. P to practice “the kiss” with me beforehand, to talk about the kind of kiss it would be, but forget it. It’s not something that can even be imagined: it just happens and it’s magnificent, and all I can say is take the longest kiss possible:
Take a kiss so long that your guests clap gleefully, that they whistle and holler so much so that you can’t help but fill with laughter half-way through:
Then there it is. You’re married and you whisk away. And music plays just for your exit. When else would that happen?
When I think back on our wedding, it is the ceremony I always think of first, and if I could, I would relive that moment ten times over. I’d go back, sneak in more kissing, more touching.
With that kind of ceremony behind you, making your way to the reception is just the icing on the cake.
