Photographic evidence to follow, I promise!

You know that scene from A Christmas Story when Ralphie’s dad goes to the basement to battle the furnace? And you hear a bunch of profanity, and the voiceover says, “Some men work in oils or clay. My old man’s medium was profanity?”

So, that sort of describes my dad, too. My brother and I were exposed to colorful vocabulary from a young age. This probably explains why BFF remembers me as being the very first person she ever knew to drop the f-bomb. Seventh grade, baby.

All of this just provides background for why I cussed walking down the aisle at my wedding.

So, I was dressed. And my dad drove me to the venue, and we sat in the car from a few blocks away so we could watch people going in and gauge when was a good time to make our grand entrance.

We parked the car. We got out of the car. And then we stood in the entryway.

The staff at the venue was all lined up, smiling at us. I had my arm draped in the crook of my dad’s arm, and my hand holding his. I guess really, really holding his. Like, cutting off the circulation. He asked if he wanted to hold my hand like that while we walked down the aisle.

I heard the beginning of The Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows,” the official Seating of the Mamas song, and I felt a strange, emotional twinge. I told my dad that yes, I did want to hold his hand.

I felt calm about marrying My Guy, but I also had this weird anxiety.

Then the processional started. Of course, it was “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

We started walking.

My Guy and I got married in the round, so all the guests were in a U-shape, facing me as I walked in. The first person I saw was BFF, who promptly put her hand over her mouth and got teary. Then I saw My Guy. Then I realized that allllll these people were loooooooking at meeeee.

I turned to my dad. “Oh, SHIT!”

But we kept walking. And I started crying.

At one point, I started to move my bouquet to hide my face, but then decided that no, that was a bad idea. I was crying for the whole world to see. Maybe my makeup was running. Maybe my fake eyelashes were now stuck to my chin. I had no way of knowing, and nowhere to hide. It was like that dream where you realize you’re naked. Except I was wearing a 20-pound wedding dress.

But then we got married and it turns out that my makeup didn’t run at all and instead of looking like a giant goob, I just looked like a bride who was happy and in love.

And about the cussing? My dad’s comment after the fact was the best.

“Well, you ARE MY daughter.”

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