In a rare moment of insecurity I asked him how I would be able to compete. Of course he said I had already won the contest hands down – and with that a flood of tears proceeded and messed my mascara. As he stroked my hair and dabbed at my cheeks, in my mind I said, ‘I do’.
But then, in the weeks to come, the cold feet took hold like dead-weights.
Every bride-to-be must have them at least once in the run up to the wedding. That’s what the engagement period is for. It’s a time to reflect and embrace one’s loss of reason in exchange for the insane idea of tying oneself to another being for life.
I never believed I was a commitment phobe, but as the day draws nearer, the fear grows deeper and I have to follow blind faith that love will conquer all. That being said, the appointment with the lawyer to write up the anti-nuptial contract is on the list of things still to do.
I will have to share my living space with 10 other dogs and that does not include my wolverine husband to be. And that’s just the beginning of a long list of compromises.
Apart from the dogs which he breeds and shows (20 years), The Husband has several other hobbies among them photography (30 years), watching sport and an unbreakable cards night with the boys that has a 17-year history.
So what was that rush of blood to the head that made me agree to marriage and end too many years of self-indulgent independence?