We met in Mexico in early November, and Graeme said he’d come see me again the following summer.
Two weeks later, he bought a one-way ticket to come back in December.
Graeme Shoebridge is an efficient man.
As soon as he arrived back home in November, Graeme sent my dad an email, asking for permission to get to know me better, assuring him it wasn’t just infatuation and this was really going somewhere.
If you are wondering how a Jesus-looking fellow living in Mississippi ended up marrying a teenager in Mexico City, then you haven’t read the story of how we met, and you’re kinda missing out. It’s over HERE, and it involves a sneaky plan, a kayak, and Mr. Tumnus the amiable faun.
My parents trusted the Rovenstines, who introduced us sneakily, and Graeme had made a good impression, so my dad agreed to this weird Skype dating arrangement. This was the first time my parents had deemed anyone good enough for me, and the excitement made me tremble all over, like a cow with flies.
Every night after work, Graeme called me and we interviewed each other for about two hours. It was a very efficient way of dating.
In just a few weeks, we knew a lot of important things about each other. Somewhat awkwardly, we found out we were both virgins. We talked about children, discipline, homeschooling, marriage, expectations, and physical boundaries. We were very thorough and it was super weird, now that I think about it. But, man, it worked so well.
So many people don’t ask these important things until much later in the relationship, and then the fit hits the shan at tremendous speed.
I recently met a lady who asked her husband for the first time if he’d be open to homeschooling when their kid was almost old enough to start school.
I still remember the night my mom and I went to get Graeme from the bus stop. I was shaky and sweaty the entire ride there, like an old Chihuahua.
I even yelped a few times, and my mom encouraged me to get all this unpleasant excitement out of my system. My mom is a very practical woman. She would never, ever own a Chihuahua.
Graeme and I hadn’t seen each other in over a month, and had only spent five days together in person, but we were all the way smitten.
I got out of the car, he set his bag on the ground and we hugged for a long time. I’m not sure how long now, but my mom was watching in the rearview mirror the entire time and can confirm it was a rather lengthy embrace. I had never been in love before, but I knew in that moment:
This is what love feels like.
My siblings and their families came from the city to meet this mysterious American suitor, and everyone liked his friendly ways and hairy chest.
Well, I don’t know if they liked it, but they sure saw it when they went water skiing. We are on a boat in our first photo together; Graeme is wet
and shirtless (and hairy) and I am wearing a red sweater, because I am fun but not that fun.
Roberta, Graeme’s matchmaking aunt gave me a bit of naughty advice.
With a mischievous look in her eye, she told me it’s best not to say “I love you” back the first time a man says he loves you. I still don’t know what purpose this is supposed to serve. I think Roberta was influenced by old movies in which a woman demonstrates her interest in a man by being a pain in the arse.
Like in Oklahoma(!), when Laurie is such a nuisance Curly says “If she liked me any more she’d sic the dogs on me!” And then there’s McLintock(!)’s daughter who likes the young lad so much she wants him shot, he gives her a spank, and they live happily ever after. Have you seen McLintock? There’s a lot of spanking in it. Maureen O’Hara runs around town in her underwear. It’s quite outrageous. I highly recommend it.
Anyway, I was surprised by this advice Roberta gave me, but I didn’t dismiss it because I consider her to be a very wise lady. Turns out, she has a silly side and wisdom had nothing to do with this bit of advice. William Wonka was right when he said:
“A little nonsense now and then is cherished by the wisest men.” In this case, woman.
Willy Wonka also said: “If the good Lord meant for us to walk, he wouldn’t have invented roller skates.” But that doesn’t apply at the moment.
We were in the car when Graeme turned to me and said, “I think I love you.”
I immediately remembered what Roberta told me, and smiled at him. Later that evening, as we walked back to the gazebo by the lake, he told me he loved me again. Again, I smiled. How long was I supposed to wait? Was it on the fifth try?
Finally, on the fourth attempt, I told him I loved him back and he was visibly relieved.
We held hands as we walked back to the house and I felt like I was floating. I actually felt like I was floating. Being in love messes up your brain in a very real, pleasant way.
We spent Christmas together, and Graeme had a present for me in a small jewelry box. My hands were a little sweaty as I opened it, and I was both disappointed and a little relieved to find an amethyst necklace. Of course it wasn’t an engagement ring, how silly of me.
We had only met the month before. Only fools rush in, and we decided to wait until the following year to get engaged.
Thankfully, the following year was just a few days away.
In January, we made a trip to the nearest mall and bought the only engagement ring that fit. One clever salesman, not having any rings in my size, said I should go with a big ring anyway since I’d get fat after the wedding.
A photographer friend happened to be visiting, and he took our engagement photos. The photos are terribly cheesy and ridiculous, but that’s young love for you:
No self awareness. No worries of any kind. No consideration for others before posting and commenting on each other’s Facebook photos.
Graeme wasn’t sure what would happen in Mexico, hence the one-way-ness of his flight. Seeing as the trip turned into an engagement, he stayed with me as long as possible and then bought a very expensive flight back to Jackson, about two days in advance.
When you consider all the traveling he did, and then later on, the immigration expenses, I turned out to be quite an expensive lady. It would have been way cheaper for him to marry someone from church, you know?
But would she have made really good Mexican rice? Would she appreciate Nacho Libre? Would they have had a terrible, memorable wedding? I don’t think so. You’re welcome, honey.
Oh, and it was terrible. The only wedding story I’ve heard worse than ours involved the bride leaving in an ambulance.
A month before our wedding, I got salmonella, which would have been bad enough on its own, except it was closely followed by a nice dose of adult chicken pox, which is like little kid chicken pox, except you almost die.
Graeme was in California and I was in Mexico, more specifically, on the floor in my undies with a terrible fever and a band-aid over my iMac’s camera, so Graeme could hear me but not be scared off by my fiery pizza face.
A few weeks later, the last of the sexy scabs fell off, leaving nice holes in my face and purple spots all over my back, which would be seen by all and photographed in a wedding dress. Oh well. At least I lost the weight I had gained when I was back in Valle, gazing at the sunsets while eating tamales.
My parents were getting a divorce, my friends weren’t qualified wedding planners, and my only sister was pregnant and afraid of the holes in my face, so Graeme and I were responsible for most of the wedding planning. Again, Graeme was in another country and I spent a month on the floor, hosting a virus.
There was no potential here for a Pinterest wedding, or even an acceptable one. But it didn’t bother us because we were in love and hadn’t kissed yet, and that second thing took up most of our brain space, as you can see here:
Graeme drove down to Mexico all the way from California in his reliable and unsuspecting Lumina (poor thing had a rough time a few weeks later when a tree fell on it). I came out to greet him, about 20 pounds lighter and without a care in the world, and we finished up the last of the wedding plans, but not really because we were malfunctioning in a very enjoyable way at the time.
I met Graeme’s family for the first time at the airport. I feel a little bad for them now, thinking about their side of the story: Their 22-year-old son meets a strange girl in a foreign country, decides to marry her within five minutes, and invites them to their wedding in two weeks. Well, not really, it was more like four months. Still very quick and risky, though. I could have been crazy. I could have had an annoying voice and said “like” a lot. I could have been into chihuahuas. Very risky.
The night before our wedding, Graeme got a fever and his tongue looked like a map. Stress and possibly questionable food messed up his system and he got a weird infection that made his taste buds fall off, leaving smooth, continent-shaped patches on his tongue. It was nasty.
My mom and I took him to the doctor, where he got the first of three shots in the butt while I looked away because his buns were still off-limits at the time.
The doctor suggested going to a witch doctor for a spiritual cleanse, seeing as Salmonella, Chicken Pox, and Map Tongue this close together must be a curse.
But that wasn’t all.
The rehearsal dinner was cancelled when several hundred trucks blocked the main road to the wedding venue, protesting something or other. Again, I can’t remember now what the problem was because my brain was a little swollen in a rather pleasant way.
The roads were still blocked off the morning of the wedding and it took a long time to get to the venue, where a nice lady tried to cover the chicken pox scars on my back with lots of makeup, but only managed to change the color of my back hairs from brown to sunset orange. I have a very hairy back. Now you know me better.
I realized I hadn’t written any vows, so I did that real quick on a meaningful Post It note while the lady attempted to improve my appearance. While I was getting my sideburns shaved (what can I say, I am a hairy lady), Graeme was next door pulling his pants down to get his second shot of antibiotics, administered kindly and a little roughly by his aunt Mary, who hadn’t seen his little butt in many a year.
About half our guests, including the guy who was supposed to play the piano, didn’t make it, and the other half were very bored because we didn’t serve alcohol or play fun music, which was still better than a wedding I went to recently where there was a dance floor and fun lights but they only played Christian music the whole time.
Who wants to shake dat booty to a remix of Good Good Father or I’m Christian and I Know It by LMFBO?
The wedding ceremony was performed in English by Graeme’s uncle Steve, a very likeable fellow who bears an extraordinary resemblance to Father Christmas.
It was translated into Spanish, poorly but kindly by Steve’s sister, Roberta, who was responsible for the whole thing in the first place, since she had set us up the year before.
The highlight of the ceremony was not the crying groom or the kiss, although I rather enjoyed both those things. The best part was when my dad said his first impression of Graeme was “Se ve efectivo,” which is slang for “He looks competent and efficient.”
Roberta, that sweet lady, despite having lived in Mexico for over thirty years, has not yet mastered slang and translated this literally to “He looks like cash.”
Some people gasped. Some people laughed. My bilingual grandma, who was sitting next to Graeme’s family, apologized profusely and repeatedly. To this day, there may still be people who think I married Graeme for his money.
Joke’s on them; we spent most of it in a Mississippi money pit remodeling project the following year. But that’s another story and it involves TV celebrities, a lady checkin’ Graeme out, and a gun. (You can read about that sweaty adventure over HERE)
The morning after the wedding, I woke up in a blissful state of wonder, immediately followed by dismay at the realization that Graeme still needed a third shot in the butt.
Aunt Mary was gone and the lady at reception probably wouldn’t be up for it, so I took a deep breath, let out a yelp, and stabbed my new husband with a needle.
Thus commenced our life together and I am happy to say it’s going really well.
We’ll have our tenth anniversary this year and I have not stabbed him since.
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