I'm getting married in Zimbabwae. Guatemala. Borneo or maybe even Botswana. -- Anywhere but Henrietta, Texas. Anythin' but thuh small-town weddin'. I don't think I could go through it again. I'm scarred for life.

But, I guess I can't deny that I learned quite a bit in the midst of the 6-month long walk down the aisle...like the true reason why so many mothers and sisters cry at weddings: It's not that they are so happy to see their little girl grow up.... or their sister look so pretty.... or whatever the sappy "Father of the Bride"esque movies make you think. The truth behind the tears is that after months of flower arranging, dress sizing, cake selecting (WHAT? The cake baker had a heart attack? How could she do such a thing?!?! WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO??), church decorating, food ordering, (Phone message: "Jennifer, I need you to look around Fort Worth for cheap fresh pineapples, calla lillies, mini croissants and 12 inch Mums" HUH???), invitation addressing, lingerie buying (Victoria Secret -- CRINGE!) and then bridal shower after bridal shower, those poor family members are emotionally drained, sleep-deprived, stressed out, and so stinking happy to see the bride FINALLY walking down that freakin' bow-lined aisle and finally getting that freakin' ring on her finger. The tears are of sheer joy, my friends... trust me on this ... Each drop silently screamin' as it rolls down make-up laden cheeks: "HALLELOUYAH!!!! It's finally over!!! Josh, take 'er away!"

Daddy Klein was determined to be the comic entertainment in the midst of our emotional waterworks: He walked JB down the aisle, and then, just before he dumped her off to Josh, he flashed a huge THUMBS UP sign to the minister... which at least was better than his rehearsal performance, when he danced/jiggled down the aisle -- brideless-- grinning from ear to ear, with his fists raised in a perfect rendition of a Rocky movie with Trumpet Voluntary background music.

I was proud of my Daddy-O though: Not only did he wear a white shirt (this was the first time I've ever seen my Dad in a white shirt. He only wears blue.), but also, when Valerie, our ultra-amazing minister, asked, "Who brings this woman to be married?" Daddy-O loudly proclaimed [with the best grammar I have EVER heard leave the mouth of Jimmy Klein] "HER MOTHER AND I" Now, if this had been real-life Jimmy Klein, he would have first replied, "Huh? Whut?" And then, "Me and Momma breeng 'er" (with a hand gesture/thumb pointin' to Momma sitting in the pew behind him). So I was pretty proud of Daddy-O. He done gud.

JB brought Lucifer to the wedding. Lucifer was originally named Booger, a rather nice euphemism, but Josh (my brother-in-law) said that the cat was nothing less than the incarnation of the devil and therefore changed the name. JB didn't have time to drop off the cat at mom and dad's house on her way to the weddin', so we just threw Lucifer into a Sunday School classroom and hoped the demon would feel thuh powa uh thuh spirit... that the will of God would prevail. But for those of you who could hear the screeching/yelping from the abyss behind the groom's cake.... well, speak of the devil. : )

The #1 Question to ask the younger sister of the bride at the wedding: [elbow, elbow] "So... Jennuhfer... now it's yur turn. When ar yew gunna walk down thuh aisle?" My reponse (prepared months in advance): "Actually, you just THINK it's my turn to get married now. I got a bye on this round. It passed straight on to Mary Sue." [giggle, giggle]

A before-the-wedding story:

Wedding Day -- 9AM: I got sent on the Wichita Falls run for the "oopsie, we forgot it" picture frame and matte for the bridal photograph... I hopped out of my car, my mind floating in sleep deprivation induced la-la land, and dropped my keys inside. Hit the lock button. Shut the door. Dadburnit. [Bang my head against the roof of the car. Doh. ] And then, I ended up rolling the parking lot of Hobby Lobby on my back trying to find the spare key under the frame of my car without screwing up my pre-weddin' French Manicure. Proof that I'm multi-talented: The Photographer Maid of Honor turned pseudo auto mechanic on the weddin' day.

After the wedding, I managed to lock myself out of my car again (for a record, twice in 12 hours), make 5 trips home and back trying to get the flowers and wedding junk out of the church, and then, somewhere between trip 3 and 4, I went through the Sonic Drive Thru, ordered 7 drinks for the wedding teardown crew... which I had to bust into JB and Josh's wedding present money to buy because I couldn't find my purse (no worries JB -- I replaced your money). It was a 72 hour long, stressed out "DEER IN THE HEADLIGHTS" emotional rollercoaster. A true CRISIS SITUATION.

So, I'm here to proclaim, my brothas and sistas: TO HELL WITH THUH SMALL-TOWN WEDDIN'.... the perfectly spherical cantaloupe balls and ginger ale punch... the fifty 12-inch white mums that we wrapped in shiny blue floral paper until 2:30AM... the 3-foot-tall plaster wedding swan named Josephine... the mini croissants and ham rolls.... the silver closed-toed shoes (after Labor Day, so the shoes must be closed toed).... and socialite theatrical performance that small towns demand in order to say a dignified and proper "I DO"...

I just don't care.

I'm getting married in Zimbabwae.