‘Til Death from Cardiac Arrest Do Us Part

Do you, buffalo shrimp, take French fries to be your lawfully wedded fried combo? For richer or poorer, in sickness from too much lard and in health …

Last week I joked that GAR and I had reached that point in the wedding planning process where you wish you had just eloped. In truth, while there have been a few temporarily semi-stressful moments along the way, we’re still laughing through it all (except for that time I told GAR that the centerpiece design he created looks like it belongs at a child’s “Little Mermaid” themed birthday party instead of a wedding and he proceeded to sing “Under the Sea” non-stop for 3 days straight … that part was not nearly as funny for me as it was for him). And now that we are less than 2 weeks away from our nuptials, I really can’t imagine sneaking off and tying the knot secretly.

But we do have our marriage license now … and so, technically, we could elope.

And this weekend we did have that option laid in front of us. While dining at the ever-classy establishment Buffalo Wild Wings (I know – you’d really think I’d be on some sort of bridal diet … or at least sort of watching what I eat … but you’d be wrong), with our wedding officiant/Wizard and he offered up this very option – grab a witness from somewhere in the bar, sign the marriage license and let’s lock down this deal right now.

And we considered it … but only briefly.

Aside from the fact that a beer and buffalo sauce stained marriage license is not quite the keepsake we want to have on file, it also just felt so wrong. I mean, getting married in a sports bar? Who does that? No, my friends, you will have to wait a few more days to see us get married the “right” way – in a way classier bar. One that, while it does feature televisions tuned to ESPN, keeps the volume down on its sports programming (unless you really bug the bartender to turn it up, in which case there is surround sound … but it’s not like they advertise that or anything). And, sure, there is fried fish on our wedding dinner menu, but at OUR bar it’s called “croquettes” which, obviously, is a much fancier sounding name than the “buffalo shrimp platter” offered at Buffalo Wild Wings. I mean, geesh – what sort of rednecks do you think we are?

So never fear – when I share photos and updates from our big day it will be the real deal, not some 2-for-1 Happy Hour Special knock-off (though I do enjoy a good Happy Hour Special ...)