Wednesday, 20 November 2013

Bush league.

When the future's architectured
By a carnival of idiots on show
You'd better lie low
If you love me, won't you let me know?
Sam has traded pancakes for waffles today. No mountains, no roaring snow-bonfires, no bagpipes. No kilts. Maybe something more refined. And maybe they should change the date, he's pretty busy over the Christmas season. It's hard enough to find other ministers to fill in without several week's notice. And also it will be hard to plan a honeymoon without booking things far in advance.

Waffle waffle waffle...

Stop it, Sam. We walk and I keep looking up at him. I'm getting lovely views of his Adam's apple bobbing as he tries to swallow the idea of a future in which it isn't Sam but Sam-and-Matt. No more autonomy, only fifty-fifty splits and negotiations. No more I but we instead. No more fretting about wedding plans because soon they'll be married and that will be that.

He covers his face with his hands and drags them down until they fall away and he looks even more tired and more worn now. No haircuts and no shaving this month have left all of my boys looking like savages. I love it. Sam is incredibly cute with his caramel curls and darker beard.

A judge then? Have your ceremony in an office, no decisions required. 

A little too UNspecial. I want it to be perfect, I just don't know what perfect is for us. 

Close your eyes. 


Just do it! Have faith. 

Punny little thing. Okay. Closed. Now what?

It's a overcast cold day off in December. What are you doing?

We're listening to music by the fire. Coffee's made. Maybe some jazz on. 

There you go. A cabin, roaring fire, and a very rustic and quiet Christmas wedding. 

I know. I keep leaning that way I think. 

A flannel wedding!


Don't forget the pancakes. 

What is it with the pancakes?

I like the way you make them. 


They're shaped like bunnies. 

Oh. What? I didn't make them like that on purpose. 

You...really? And here I thought I was special. 

You are. 

Apparently not special enough for bunny pancakes. 


I think you need a new best friend. Apparently I'm not worthy of breakfast shapes. 

Sure you are! You just have to ask and-

Oh, Sam, if I have to ask then there's no point. 

This, Bridget. 


This is why I'm marrying a dude. 

I thought it was for the baseball. 

What? Baseball? Huh?

The pitcher/catcher thing...