So, there we were at the Helena Handbasket Dopefest, and somehow I got started telling our wedding story. Lindyhopper looked at me after I finished and said, “You need to post that!” So here it is, in all its strangeness – but it made sense at the time!
What is it with weddings that they seem to be disasters as they happen, but in retrospect, it wasn’t really that bad? Montana Cricket and I were married in August 1993, just after I graduated college (she having kindly waited around for me for a full year after she finished). Against well-established wedding tradition, we were married in my hometown instead of hers, by a female justice of the peace, in a funeral home. Allow me to explain.
We didn’t want to get married in her hometown, mainly because the only family left living there are her prim, Baptist, bible-totin’, “you’re living in SIN”, evil witch of a grandmother (no offense meant to witches – heck, my sis-in-law is one), and Cricket’s uncle and his family. Uncle is an accomplished pianist and patron of the arts, who was going to provide the music for the wedding. He also has a long running feud with his sister, Cricket’s mom, wherein they begin by being sociable and end by not talking to each other for many months – for any reason (“oh, mom’s out of the hospital.” “Mom was IN the hospital? WHY!!” “Pneumonia. Thought we might lose her.”). Since getting married there meant that nearly everyone would have to travel, the alternate plan was in. Plus, it’ll annoy evil grandma.
Ok, so where can we do this? Well, the best man married into a business with an available chapel, and since I knew his wife and her parents since I was little, we were allowed the use of it for free, as long as we could guarantee that it would be cleaned out before its next use. So what if it’s a funeral home? It’s a very nice one, with plenty of seating. And, it’s another way to annoy evil grandma. Don’t get married in a church!
Unfortunately, my uncle’s family owns the other funeral home in town, but we were able to convince everyone concerned that we were already committed (!) and it was too late to change now.
Now, neither of us are particularly religious people, so having a religious representative officiate didn’t mean much to us. The alternative, of course, is a JP. Since my mother spent most of her career working in the County Attorney’s office, I knew most of them. Nancy was glad to help us out. Yet another way to annoy evil grandma. Don’t get married by a “person of the cloth”! And to make it better, let’s get a woman to do it!
Now, you might be starting to think that I have something against Montana Cricket’s grandma. And you’d be right! For some reason unknown to me, the woman has hated me since we first met. As far as I know, I didn’t do anything to deserve it, but I’m perfectly willing to reciprocate. Anything I can do, I will. But let me continue, lest this degenerate into a rant.
So, are all the pieces in place? Funeral home, JP, evil grandma, yep, looks like it’s all here. The day has arrived. But wait! The tuxes don’t match! One of these things is not like the others. Some creative rearranging and the groom has all the odd bits, and all the groomsmen look alike. Hmm. Looks like the tux shop has provided one of the ushers with some pants that are a little too long. About two inches too long. Have you ever seen a hem set with a stapler? I have. It’s ten minutes to Showtime – anybody seen the JP?
The actual ceremony was pretty anticlimactic. Nobody fainted, or threw up, or anything! The wrath of God did not smite us, evil grandma was thoroughly pissed off, and the reception and honeymoon were lots of fun.
And then we moved to Utah…
