I was going to tell you all about the day after the wedding, in which I woke up before Dave (unheard of!) and bounded up to my parents’ room clutching a copy of the New York Times to find my dad with his hair sticking straight up and my mother still in bed at 8:30 at the morning (unheard of!) and how I sat on the corner of their bed and we talked about the evening and kept saying things like “just perfect” and “wonderful” and “lucky, lucky, lucky.”
But dude, even I am getting a little bit tired of these 1,000 word-plus wedding-related blabs.
So instead I will just give you the highlights. I will tell you that I did not get that cheeseburger, sadly, but I did eat an entire plateful of bacon at our post-wedding brunch.
A few pieces ended up on this dress and left distinct grease stains but I didn’t really care.
At the brunch, I flitted from table to table, taking in all these people who had come so far to see us get married, now in the rosy daylight.
Neither the boy who vomited on the bus nor his entourage made it to the brunch. Evan made it, but only after enduring a car ride with my aunt and uncle (both in their 70s) yelling at their GPS. Sometimes watching your worlds collide is poignant and stirring and sometimes it’s just hilarious.
Dave and I took the train back to New York, lugging with all those outfits I had insisted on bringing for no apparent reason, and ran into Tracey and Aaron and Evan too.
We got back to the apartment and ate the same sushi I’d been eating nearly every night pre-wedding and sat in our same living room, but everything felt different. We read the wishes and congratulations everyone wrote on their cards and I cried.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the post-wedding buzz or the promise of Hawaii the next morning. But man, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as happy as I did that next day, when it all started sinking in.
Next: the honeymoon, duh.