Bless Your Heart

In honor of our 3 year wedding anniversary tomorrow….

Gather round the fire kids, I’ve got another engagement story for you. I started this blog after Jon and I had been married 5 months, so all of the pre-wedding shenanigans have yet to be recorded. I started with the “Ass Hands” story a couple of weeks ago. This took place one week before the wedding. They say every wedding has some sort of catastrophe. This was my little pre-wedding tragedy. I’ll write about the big one later.

Jon and I were living in an apartment with our kitties Nimbus and DaBrie. They knew something was going on with all the prep work and running around we were doing. DaBrie was acting up a bit because of it. Here she is at Christmas this year, like she didn’t almost ruin my big day.

So it’s a week before the wedding. I’m folding clothes in the bedroom. I had just packed my little bag with my wedding shoes and underthings so they’d be ready for my final fitting the next day. My bag was beside the dresser on the floor. Jon comes in and is helping me fold clothes. The kitties follow him in. We notice DaBrie climbing in my wedding bag and settling in for a nap. Awww, so cute. Except we quickly realized she wasn’t napping- she was peeing! On my wedding shoes, my wedding bra, my wedding underthings, my wedding everything. A mere 12 hours before my final fitting!

Jon chases her out of the room screaming. I’m freaking out. FREAKING OUT. All the brides out there know just how hard it is to find all of the things you need for the wedding in just the right colors etc. The long line bra that no one carries but the bridal store so they can get away with charging you an arm and a leg. And my shoes. My shoes were perfect. Perfect. Ivory satin Kenneth Cole mary janes with a stacked heel and by all miracles they matched my dress perfectly and were comfortable. And after months of searching, I had found them on a clearance rack for $15! And as all brides know, you have to be wearing the same shoes and underthings you’ll be wearing at the wedding for your final fitting, or the alterations won’t come out right.

I grabbed the bag and ran to the washing machine. I dumped the entire contents into the machine, crying hysterically the whole time. Jon comes up after skinning DaBrie alive (I’m secretly hoping) and sees that I’ve just dumped my nasty, cat pee soaked shoes into the washer followed by a ton of detergent. He looks at me and says “Honey, I know you’re upset, but I really don’t think high heeled dress shoes are meant to be washed in a regular washing machine.” I looked at him with fire shooting out of my eyes and said “I. Don’t. Care. I am washing these shoes and I am wearing these shoes in the morning.”

So I did, I washed them. And I let them dry on the kitchen counter. And apparently my angels were working overtime that day because they turned out just fine. Perfect. So I wrote all the names of my single girlfriends on the soles, tucked a sixpence in one, and slipped them on. You’d never know some pissed off cat had urinated all over them a week before when I wore them down the aisle.