I wasn’t one of these girls who dreamed of my wedding since I was 7…. where I was in a white dress standing beside a man in a tuxedo with his face framed with dotted lines and the label “insert here”. I never actually thought about marriage until I was going to do it. But I figured if I was going to be a bride, then I wanted to milk it……I didn’t want a wedding as such but I wanted an extended party that I happened to get married at. Only do it once right? So began the planning.
In Mort’s parents world, it was highly prized for your betrothed son to be featured with their glossy smiling teeth and loafers to be gazing lovingly at their twin-set clad, pearl necklace wearing fiancée in the engagement section of the newspaper, with a backdrop of sun-set or soft willow trees. Not my style but I was 100% willing to acquiesce to do the right thing with his parents…..it wasn’t Mort’s style either and he wasn’t willing to bend…..but you can guess who was the target of the half-lidded glare and the tight-lipped snip of ‘ok, fine then’ from the family matriarch.
The first of many bouts in the ring.
no this wasn’t us but you get the picture…..