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the ceremony
It worked. Nobody forgot their pants, or ripped their shirts, or spilled chocolate on their dress. The priest had either been up all night drinking coffee, doing uppers, and studying the Catholic ramifications of the RonCo Rotisserie Oven (Set it and Forget it!), or he was anxious to get this whole wedding thing over with so that he could get back to his game of Quake, because the ceremony took only eight minutes. That's right, eight minutes for me to get locked into this deal forever. I think buying a car takes longer than that.
Click here for a full picture of the wedding party.
"Amy."
"Yes, Mom."
"Are you sure about this? There is this lovely boy that I see at
work. He's a doctor, not some bum who's going to sit around and spend
your hard-earned money, and he's very respectable."
"It's too late, Mom. We're at the end of the aisle."
"Damn."
"Amy, do you take this man to be
your lawfully wedded husband,
who will leave his shoes in the middle of the floor,
who will make a laundry pile wherever he happens to drop his clothes,
who will walk outside barefoot and then come in and put his feet all over
the couch,
who is filled with strange sounds, smells, and ideas all hours of the
day or night,
so help you God?"
"Adam, do you take this woman to
be your lawfully wedded wife,
who will remember things you did wrong for the next fifty years,
who will manage to smile, cry, and yell in the same sentence while talking
about the weather,
who will use old arguments that you already lost against you time and
time again,
who will start to mold you into the person she envisions you should
be by the time I finish this sentence, so help you God?"
"I now pronounce you man and wife,
under the eyes of God,
as recognized by the state of Florida,
as recognized by everyone except those extended family members who will
still call you "that boy she's dating" and "his girl of
the week",
'til death or dismemberment do you part."