The fact that I was not wearing my own pants would, in some counties and jurisdictions, make the wedding between my wife and me null and void. Even more likely, the fact that we had to borrow rings from my brother and sister-in-law to consecrate the bonds of holy matrimony could be construed as some sort of evil hex or hoo-doo on our union. I suppose the fact that the two most important props, the bride and groom, arrived at roughly the same spot at roughly the same time is enough to cinch the deal.
Fourteen years ago, I knew very little about being married. It certainly felt like the appropriate next step, and the opportunity to tell our grandchildren that "yes, we did meet in high school but waited another decade before we ever dated," seemed like plenty of justification. The events of that day show up in my mind like the souvenir photos that were taken of us from so many angles. I remember coming over the hill, crashing through the trees very much like the great ape Kong I invoked in my vows. After all the fits and starts, the ceremony actually passed without any ugly incident or scene. My wife to be arrived with her bridesmaids in a convertible instead of the horse that she had hoped for, but it didn't really matter. Behind the scenes, friends and family worked feverishly to shore up the cake that didn't handle the trip as well as it might, and when it was all said and done, I cannot remember much more than the piece of cake that was ceremoniously smeared across my face by my new wife. Please don't ask me what the guests ate, since all I remember was a vast bowl of peanut M&Ms that I was never able to take full advantage.
When the sun set that day, we were married, and we have been ever since. Funny how things work out that way. Not funny, "Ha-Ha", but funny "happy".