W and I were going to say “I do” in about two hours. I had this marriage thing, this love thing down.
I have been married before. And civil unioned. Practice makes perfect they say. Third time’s the charm. This time around, there would be no surprises. How could there be? What could this 47-year-old butch not know about commitment, about love?
A group of friends and family were at the pavilion stringing up lights and placing vintage Mason jars filled with fall flowers on the picnic tables.
W and I were at home getting dressed.
I knew to stay out of W’s way as it would take her longer to get ready, W being the bride and all.
I took my time and put on my jeans and white button-down shirt, rolling up the sleeves just so. I slid on my custom Converse with the wedding date emblazoned in back and laced them up. I folded up my vows and placed them in my front shirt pocket. Only one thing left to do. I flipped up my collar, wrapped my bowtie around my neck and went to use the mirror in the downstairs bathroom to tie that bad boy.
I almost got it on the first try. But then my nerves got the best of me. Despite all the YouTube videos and the bowtie tying drills earlier in the week, I just couldn’t get it tied. I took some deep breaths and kept trying.
One side longer. Over, under. Long side out of the way. Form a bow. Long side down in front. Taco, taco. Stuff.
Now I was sweating. A lot. I brought my iPad in the bathroom for video aid. Still no luck.
Stay calm. You can do this.
I thought a change in venue might help, so I tried the upstairs bathroom. There was no bowtie tying magic in there.
I was starting to panic. And curse. We had to leave soon. What if I couldn’t get the bowtie tied? I had been blogging about this damn bowtie for a month. What would I wear? It was too late to run out and buy a necktie. And at this point, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to tie a one of those.
“I can’t do it,” I yelled out to W.
“Yes, you can,” she encouraged.
I ventured into our bedroom where W was getting dressed.
“It’s too hard,” I said, pouting like only a middle-age butch and a six-year-old girl can.
“I don’t want to hear it,” W said. “I have to put on Spanx. You want to trade places?”
I quickly left the bedroom and continued my futile attempts at tying a bowtie. I swore more quietly so W wouldn’t hear.
One side longer. Long side out of the way. Form a bow. Long side down in front. Taco, taco. Stuff.
Time was running out. We were already running late. The bowtie is aptly named the Jack & Ennis after the leads in Brokeback Mountain. I can’t quit you or tie you! I yelled out to no one in particular.
It was time to think alternatives. Glue gun. Or maybe nail gun. I needed tools of some kind. Possibly a Dremel.
Or maybe I could wear the bowtie like a tiny, jaunty silk scarf. Or tie it in a big bow and wear it Colonel Sanders style. Desperate times and all.
I retreated to the bedroom one last time and sat down on the bed next to W. W grabbed her iPad and watched a two-minute YouTube video. She tied the bowtie perfectly on her first try.
“Just so you know, I will learn how to tie my own bowtie,” I said. It was my attempt at piecing back together my butch bravado that lay scattered in tiny shards on the floor around my custom Converse.
“You don’t have to,” W said.
When we got to the pavilion, W pointed out my bowtie to some of the guests.
“Doesn’t it look great?”
I just smiled and told everyone that I had pulled on my own underwear in the morning and that’s about all I had done. That is pretty much the truth not true at all.
We had about a half hour before we were to say our vows. Usually, I’m not good on the fly, but I was able to work the bowtie into my vows. It was the least I could do.
Here are some snippets:
You are the first person with whom I share good news and bad.
You are the person I go to when I am feeling down, scared, unsure or frustrated.
You are the person I look for when I am feeling happy or triumphant and want to share my good luck and fortune.
And you are the person I go to on my wedding day when I can’t tie my bowtie.
* * *
There’s a line in a Melissa Etheridge song that I quote to you all the time.
“You found out to love me, you have to climb some fences.”
You climb those fences with grace and most times even a smile on your face.
But isn’t that what love is? Climbing fences.
And that is my promise to you. To love you, to support you, to encourage you, to forgive you.
And climb those fences every once in awhile so you know that I am here and that I’m not going anywhere and that you are worth the extra effort every single time.
I figure I scored some butch bonus points for admitting that I didn’t tie the bowtie. (And working in a Melissa Etheridge song.)
* * *
Today, I’m fairly confident that I will be able to master the tying of the bowtie. I mean, I can drive a car and give a cat a pill and remove spaghetti sauce stains from a white shirt. But I’m pretty sure I don’t want to.
I like the idea of having W tie my bowties from this day forward. While W is tying, we will laugh about our wedding day and my bowtie tying ineptitude and how she saved the day. We will be reminded that we are not on this journey alone but have a constant companion to share the ups and downs of life. I will remember that I can’t do everything on my own — contrary to what my butch ego says — and that there is wisdom and courage in asking for and accepting help. And that I am so very lucky to have by my side a strong, competent woman (who happens to excel at tying things) as my wife.
This is the cutest. It may or may not have caused me to shed a tear.
Congratulations on your wedding and on scoring such a wonderful and coordinated partner. May you share many wonderful memories and bowtie-tyings to come.
Aw, thanks. There’s something to be said for having a partner who is proficient in one’s areas of deficiency. It keeps things in balance (and me appropriately dressed for all of the formal occasions to come).
Congrats! We had a glass (okay, a few) on the two of you!
I can think of no better reason than a same-sex marriage to raise a glass in celebration. Cheers!
That is perfect. A lovely realization on your wedding day that she’ll be there to do those things for all your lives 🙂 (I’m glad you didn’t offer to return the favour with assisting her into her spanx, might not have been quite the same eh?…however assisting her out…now that’s an entirely different proposition!)
When I heard the word Spanx, I knew it was time to make a quick exit.
Congrats!!! I laughed, I cried! This was both a fun post and a sweet one. May you and W have many years of climbing fences with each other.
Thanks so much. That’s what I was going for. Sweet with a little bit of humor thrown in for good measure.
A bow-tie story will not make me cry. A bow-tie story will not … bugger!
Note to all butches: Now we know, spanx beats a bow-tie, every time.
Yep. Bow tie. Spanx. You do the math.
Taco Taco? Mexican jumping bow ties? Congratulations, hope you have many more opportunities to wear the sneakers and the bow tie.
At a certain point, one is to fold the ends of the bows together to form a little taco. Taco, taco was part of my mantra. But what do I know about tying a bow tie? Not much, as we all now know.
This IS the cutest! And I did indeed shed some tears. Congrats!!
Butches can be cute if we try real hard.
And, the rain mostly stopped …
Because that is what marriage is for.. always being there to tie your beloved’s bowtie.
I never learnt to tie my own but like all good wives I have stood and tied my good lady’s to Melissa Etheridge.
Many congratulations and may you always laugh as you climb the fences towards each other
Aww, I know I’m late to the party but this is the sweetest post I’ve read in quite sometime! Congratulations on many more years of love, laughter, health, happiness and fence climbing! Very big hugs, k
It’s never too late to join in. Thanks for your kind words. Cheers!
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That is so sweet! Bowties completely suck. They require at least three hands maybe four, five would be best. I love W for her eptitude for your sake!
I am lucky to have someone in my life who is proficient in all of those things that I am not. Bowties being just one of my deficiencies.