A week late and who cares?

The Goat and I got married on November 28, 1992 in my parents living room. A pastor performed the nuptials, which were followed by an open house reception. Mom made all these great appetizers and we had a beautiful cheese board. My dad smoked a couple of salmons. My new mother-in-law made Greek pastries. Two caterers tended to serving and clearing the food and we had a professional bartender as well.

It was small and intimate and casual and elegant all at once--perfect, really. Let it be known that I negotiated up from the justice of the peace and a can of beer and the Goat negotiated down from a church wedding and formal hall reception. Looking back now, I guess that sort of meeting-in-the-middle was a harbinger of good things to come.

We spent the night at the Ritz. I was 27. My magnificent groom was 35.

This photo was taken the next day at our house (we'd purchased it together about a month earlier). It is my favorite photo of us because it exactly captures the two people we were on that day. All the family came over for leftovers and ham. We opened the wedding gifts and had the best party. We honeymooned a year later in Reno and Tahoe.

Side story: The Goat and I took my parent's minivan to Illinois to buy the booze for the whole weekend in order to avoid our sizable state and local taxes. Of course there were tons of side orders as well. We loaded up a couple of carts with about $1,500 worth of hooch. After we checked out, we asked the clerk for boxes.

"We don't have any," she said flatly.

!

No, we did not capture the attention of any law enforcement representatives on the ride home. Yes, every drop of sin made it back to Ohio. No, the Goat did not have a good time as I sweated bullets and screamed at him every time he changed lanes or tapped the brakes as all those the bottles rattled and threatened in the back of the van.

Yes, he married me anyway.

Tonight we will celebrate said nuptials with a fine dinner at Luca. Sure, it's a week late, but after 21 years, what's a few days?

Happy anniversary, Goat. I wouldn't change a thing.

*  *  *