Monday, September 17, 2012

24 Years

Today Jeff and I have been married for 24 years. We went out to dinner at Tengda Asian Bistro in Darien. We hadn't been there in years and it was delicious.

Jeff's birthday is in eight days. We usually combine our celebrations, sometimes going on vacation. This year we're throwing a party for Jeff's 50th birthday so we kept our anniversary low key.

I feel lucky to have found Jeff. We're well-matched. We enjoy many of the same things. But we understand that we don't have to enjoy all the same things. We respect each other's choices that we don't share.

Jeff has been a great husband, companion and friend. 

I'll share a piece about our wedding day that I included in my memoir writing class.

The Limo from Hell


            The morning of Jeff’s and my wedding, I was waiting in my parents’ den with my sister, Joanna. The limo was late.

             I checked the clock—11:10—time to leave if we wanted to make it to the church by 11:30.  Just then, I heard the crunching of driveway gravel under the weight of the limo. Finally. We hurried outside.

            “Sorry, I’m late,” the driver said. “They gave me the wrong directions to your house.”

            Joanna and I settled in the back of the limo and were on our way. I thought it was odd when the driver passed the entrance to the Merritt Parkway, but remained silent. After all, he was the professional.

            But when we turned left on Vine Road, I knew something was wrong. “You’re going the wrong way,” I said.

            “No, I’m not,” said the driver. “I looked up Lafayette Street on the map.”

            “But, we’re going to Lafayette Street in Greenwich, not Stamford.”

            The driver pulled the car over to the side of the road and got out. He began talking to another driver in the limo ahead of us.

            “What’s this—tag team limos?” said Joanna.

            I laughed but my stomach was churning. “I don’t believe this. I’m going to be late for my own wedding.”

             “Calm down,” Joanna said.

            “You’re right; they can’t start without me.” My giggles loosened the knot in my stomach.
 
            The driver returned and apologized. “They told me the wrong Lafayette Street. I was wondering why I couldn’t find the church.”

            Joanna and l looked at each other. “Jeff picked the limo,” I whispered.

            “The limo from hell,” Joanna said.

            We hit traffic in downtown Stamford trying to get on the turnpike. The limo clock read 11:20, but it felt much later. Joanna rolled down her window and asked a passenger in the next car for the time: 11:30.

            Our driver turned around. “I could have given you the time.”

            Yeah right. “They” probably would have given him the wrong time, along with the wrong directions and the wrong Lafayette Street. “They” were pretty incompetent.

            We reached the church at 11:50. Many of the guests had wandered outside. They quickly reassembled as Joanna and I entered. Even with my lateness, Jeff and I managed to get married on the upswing of the clock, a good omen according to my new mother-in-law.

            After the ceremony as we posed for pictures, I described my morning to Jeff. He told me that the limo had originally driven to the church.
 
          “You are the stupidest drivers,” Jeff’s father had said. “Did you expect to find the bride here? You’re supposed to bring her to the church.”

           After pictures, Jeff, Joanna and I returned to the limo with best man Jared and usher Adam for the ride to our reception. Inside the limo’s mini-fridge was a bottle of champagne.

            “Let’s crack that open,” I said. “We could use it.”

            None of us recognized the brand of champagne. By its taste, we figured it must have set the limo company back by $1.98 (excluding any volume discounts.)

            The car phone buzzed and Jeff talked to the driver for a few minutes.  The driver told him the champagne wasn’t included and we would have to pay for it. After all we had been through, the least the company could have done was spring for a cheap bottle of champagne.

          After our second toast, I looked out the window and realized I had no idea where we were. Luckily, Jared recognized our location and gave directions to the driver.

            “Sorry.” The driver repeated his litany, “They gave me the wrong directions.”

             When we arrived at our reception, I practically ran from the limo and waited for a few minutes for Jeff to join me.

             “What took you so long?”  
 
            “I had to give the driver my credit card number,” Jeff said. “He didn’t believe I paid.”

           We headed inside to celebrate. I was relieved that the ceremony was over and that our limo arrangements did not include a return trip.

           

 

                  

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