On Thursday, Hubster and I will celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary.
I remember the day of the wedding. A beautiful spring morning greeted the bridal party as we left my apartment for the hairdresser. There I was transformed from an ordinary woman into a stunning bride. The bridal party then went to my friends’ home to dress and have photos taken before getting into the cars to take us to the venue. Everything ran like clockwork, until my friend informed me that the photographer was in hospital (heart attack—days later made a full recovery) but not to worry, she and her husband had organised a friend to take the photos instead. Phew. It did mean that I was going to be VERY late to the service, though. Someone made a quick call to the minister to advise the hold-up, in case everyone waiting thought I had a bad case of cold feet.
By the time I arrived, we were an hour behind schedule. But that was fine. All the guests were patiently awaiting my arrival, Hubster and his groomsmen were standing ready, facing towards the door to watch me walk in, with my dad proudly by my side.
Hubster slipped the ring on my finger. We signed the paperwork. We became a married couple.
I look back over our fifteen years together. It hasn’t always been a smooth ride. Sure, there’s been plenty of good times, but hard times have well and truly been thrown into the mix, too. We are committed to making it work, despite all the shit that life throws our way.
I look at my ring now, on my finger. I still love it. I love what it represents. To paraphrase Beyonce: he liked it and he did put a ring on it.