And now, from the "other gender". First of all, we may look cool and collected, but we're just as nervous and conflicted as you gals. In my case, I was commited, and determined to see it through, b u t, the "are you sure's", and "gawd, your throwing your whole life away", and "just get in the car and drive" would sneak in and gnaw away at my confidence. It was like I was looking for a "sign" to affirm that I was doing the right thing.
Wedding day arrived, a muggy, miserable June 30, in Michigan, the ceremony was at 7pm. About noontime, I decided that a swim would calm my nerves, and cool me off. A small lake nearby was selected, and with "don't be late's" ringing in my ears, I was off.
After swimming for 30 minutes or so, I was cooler, but my nerves were still frayed. Suddenly, into my head pops this notion, I should swim across the lake. This would be my sign, if I made it across, then my marriage was meant to be, If Idid'nt, I would'nt have to worry. Soon, the notion became an obession, no thinking involved here. I had swam equivalent distances before, so the odds were good. Finally, my addled brain gave in.
The swim across the lake was uneventful, as I approached the far shore, congradulating myself on such a clever solution, my brain finally kicked in.
Ahead of me were cattails, which meant shallow water and mud, which meant mosquito's, and I had to get back to my car, that was about 3 miles away by land, or another swim across the lake. Having received my "sign", another lake crossing seemed like tempting fate.
At about 3:30pm, muddy, sweaty, thirsty, and covered with mosquito bites, I arrived at the car. Too tired to rinse off, I got in the car and drove myself home. I was greeted at the door by my mother, who along with the the rest of the family females, went into a panic, not about my tired, dehydrated, mosquito bitten self, but because "your supposed to get married in 3 hours, and your a filthy mess". The guys shot me symphetic looks, but fortunately, nobody asked about why I was in my sorry state.
At 7pm, I was cleaned, tuxed, slathered in calamine lotion, and my tired, nervous, painful self presented to my new bride. The wedding night was ah er embarrasing, the high point being a cold shower after which my sweetie lovingly carressed my mosquito bite bumps with calomine lotion, and graciously accepted my contrived story of how I came to be in that condition.
My "sign" must have been good, because 43 years later, were still going strong. My advise to you? If you really gotta have a sign, think it through very, very carefully first.
