The appearance of brownies in the kitchen this morning is just another reminder that I made the right decision seventeen days ago. Not that the decision to marry my wonderful, wonderful wife was really made on the day of the wedding; it was made long before that. The only thing that stood between the “I do”s–or rather, the “I have”s and “I will”s–was the tuxedo-rental company, which seemed to be toying with us on purpose: the first coat that came in for me was too small, the second was the same size. Others faced similar problems: wrong pants, wrong shirts. Only on the big day did everything finally get sorted out.
So maybe my internal debate during the exchange of rings ultimately (mis-)guided me to putting the ring on backwards, and maybe somebody inverted the order of a few vows. Maybe the day wasn’t without imperfections… it was still perfect.
