It’s 5 minutes to 9 am and somehow I’ve managed to overload my small head of hair with enough water and hair gel that it’s currently dripping down my neck and on to my white undershirt. I think I will wait a few minutes before I put on the tux. I’m more nervous than someone who’s not actually getting married should be. I hope I don’t step on any of the ladies dresses. I hope I don’t fumble the ring. I hope I don’t mess up my speech. I hope I don’t embarrass myself, or the bride, or the groom.
In 30 minutes I head out the door, and in 2 and 1/2 hours, Braveheart and his fiancé will be Mr. and Mrs. Braveheart. Last Saturday was the bachelor party: paintball, alcohol, and strippers-what a fine day. Today is the real deal. A summary of the wedding and all the embarrassing stories about Mr. Braveheart that I can cram into a page will follow next week-after Mr. and Mrs. Braveheart are safely away on their honeymoon and can’t read this blog.
But I procrastinate. The water and gel have dried. I must ready the tux and ready my nerves, and head to the wedding.