Why I Love This Particular Friday
After The Gallop

Down The Aisle

Wedding Today is our 28th wedding anniversary.

Seems like only yesterday that I was sitting in my parents' home, drinking coffee and thinking about my upcoming nuptials, when my Pop walked down the steps clad only in his strapless t-shirt, his size 44 boxers, his shoes and socks, and the striped tie from his rented tux.

"Well, I'm ready!" he said.

That's my Pop.

I'd gotten my hair done the day before, so I put on my own makeup and got myself dressed. The three of us drove to the church in Pop's Chevy Caprice.

My sisters were waiting in their bridesmaid finery; the ushers were waiting in their tuxes. I couldn't stop smiling. Everyone was smiling!

I'd always had visions of a slow, stately procession down the aisle, with me smiling at the friends and family gathered to watch us take our vows. I'd blow a kiss to my best pals, wink at the children, giggle at anyone with misty eyes, and allow myself to be admired.

Nope. When the time came to walk down the aisle, Pop grabbed my arm and practically ran me up to the altar. We galloped down the aisle like we were running in the Kentucky Derby and coming down the homestretch.

But that jog down the aisle just meant I got to Joe faster, so I was okay with that.

And 28 years later, I'm still okay with that.