One year ago today, I woke up in Pawleys Island, South Carolina on a stunningly beautiful Saturday morning, and my first thought was, “Holy fuck, I forgot to print copies of the programs.”
About 8 hours later (thank you, Nat and Amanda, for taking care of that program thing!), I married Marc Farnsworth.
In the days and weeks leading up to the wedding, I had been riding the Wacky Bridal Train, freaking out about everything possible and generally acting like a complete bitch to the man I was about to marry. Marc, however, was cool and collected, and demonstrated only saintlike patience when faced with multiple instances wherein he had to wrestle me to the ground to prevent me from hurling sharp/fragile objects or hapless living creatures across the dining room.
Much to the awe of my immediate family members, I became the Calmest Bride Ever on the afternoon of the wedding. Once all the appropriate garments were on my body and once my friend Autumn finished applying what I would normally consider to be an unholy amount of eyeshadow to my lids, I grabbed my bouquet, looked at my parents, and said, “OK. Let’s go.”
Conversely, in those same very moments, Marc was losing his shit. At some point about 30 minutes before the wedding, Steve the Groomsman was sent in from outside (we were doing that “not seeing each other before the wedding” thing) as the groom’s emissary to ask me, please, if I happened to have any extra Xanax on me, because as I’ve mentioned, Marc was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. And the thing about me is, I always have extra Xanax lying around, because I am a diagnosed Panic Freak, and sometimes I need some Xanax. So I sent Steve off to the parking lot to dope up my soon-to-be husband and stood around being reasonable and calm until it was time for the ceremony.
What I didn’t know at the time was that Marc was sitting on the curb outside with his entire face shoved into a bag of ice, because he was pretty sure he was going to pass out from nerves. Even the Xanax didn’t help. About ten seconds before the bridesmaids and groomsmen started walking out toward the wedding ceremony area, Marc was still sitting on that curb, and someone had to inform him that he might want to get off his ass and get the hell up to the altar, because that’s where everybody else was going to be in about 3 minutes.
It was at that moment that Marc, now even more panicked at the thought of being late to his own wedding, began to run at full tilt toward the altar, still clutching the bag of ice in his hand. At some point during his sprint, one of our friends yelled, “Marc, the ICE! Get rid of the ICE!” And Marc, being fully out of his mind at this stage, did not stop running to dispose of the ice bag. Instead, he flung it with all his might – while still RUNNING – in the general vicinity of the folding chairs that were set up for guests to watch the ceremony. By some strange wedding day miracle, the bag did not hit any of the guests, but instead hit the ground and slid neatly under an unoccupied chair.
The very moment I arrived at the altar, I took one look at Marc, who was by now ashen and red-eyed, and immediately reached out to place both of his hands in mine. Later on, people would tell me how sweet it was, the way I reached out to hold his hands during the ceremony. What I usually don’t tell them is that the reason I reached out and grabbed him was that I knew he was about to klonk right out in front of everyone, and I was not about to let that happen. That move saved the day. Marc did not go klonk, and 15 minutes later, we were Official Married Folk.
And then everyone had dinner and got completely loaded, and there was dancing and very silly behavior, and it was a very, very good wedding.
I tell you this story not because I want to embarrass Marc, but because it exemplifies the sort of person he is, and it says a lot about why I love him so much. Do you want to know why he was freaking out that day? It was because we wrote our own vows, and he was terrified that his just weren’t going to be good enough, or that I wasn’t going to like them. And thinking about that even now makes me tear up a little.
Of course you all know that I love him because he’s nice, and he’s funny, and he sure as hell isn’t hard on the eyes, but I know I don’t always do a good enough job of telling him – or the rest of the world for that matter – how much he means to me.
For that reason, here’s a short list of Silly Little Things I Love About Marc:
• His freakish, uncanny knowledge of European History. Keep in mind that this is a man who hasn’t quite finished his undergraduate degree, yet sounds like a goddamned Rhodes Scholar at the very mention of the War of the Roses.
• Like any good American male, he loves himself a beer, but is totally unafraid of admitting that he also [really, really] enjoys a good strawberry daiquiri from time to time.
• He makes the best French toast in the whole wide world.
• He cleans the cat litter boxes.
• Hand him a tin can, a box of straight pins, a rubber Halloween mask, and an electric power supply, and he’ll build you a computer out of them.
• He used to be a Republican, but he let me turn him into a Democrat. A staunch Democrat who sits and yells at the TV with me when Dubya pronounces it “newk-yoo-ler.”
• He puts up with me, even when I am crying about nothing or explaining in a VERY loud tone of voice that I will NOT, under any circumstances, watch any movie containing serious puppets. The Dark Crystal and The Neverending Story are out of the question, for they contain puppets that are serious. If you want me to watch puppets, let them be Muppets. No other puppets are acceptable, not even Meet the Feebles, because puppets that fuck are also verboten.
• I have never doubted, not even for a second, how much he loves me.
I love you, Marc David Farnsworth. Happy first anniversary.
posted by Kate at 2:24 PM link/comments
