On October 27, 1998 — ten years ago today — rintrahroars and I snuck off to the Escambia County Courthouse in Pensacola to get our marriage license. That was the intention, anyway, as we had planned to elope on the beach the following weekend.
Instead, partially inspired by an offhand snarky comment from one of my co-workers (”Don’t come back married!”), we got married. We stood in a dark stairwell in the courthouse, wearing jeans and sandals (her) and sneakers (me) and enormous smiles, and we repeated back our vows to the Justice of the Peace, and we exchanged the simple silver bands we’d purchased. Then we went home and told our parents, and we had dinner at the Outback Steakhouse that night, and we spent our joyous wedding night in our little rental house.
I’ve never for a single second regretted either the circumstances of the wedding or thought that marrying Terry was the wrong decision. Not for a second. Far and away the best decision I’ve ever made.
I love you, sweetheart, and hope for several more decades as amazing and fulfilling as the first one.