I am so excited to be a guest blogger here on Flip Flops & Combat Boots. This is one of the first blogs I started following and I was hooked from the beginning. Within 2 weeks of my birth into the blogging world I emailed to see if I could be a guest blogger. I seriously was giggling like a 5 year old when I got the okay. I wrote this piece about 3 - 4 weeks ago and have been tweaking it - that's how excited (lame) I am. I know some of you have been following my Sunday Stories and are on the edge of your seats. I promise Sunday Stories will resume next week with a story you can't miss! I hope you enjoy my guest blogger piece! Have a fabulous day!
The first time he called me wife
September 2007
It was the end of summer, just over one year until we were to be wed. When we got engaged I told OccDoc I would need at least 12 months to plan a wedding for the sole reason of wearing my dream dress down the aisle. My mom and I were designing and making my dress. Nervous brides, crying brides, and bridezillas were all woven into the tapestry of my childhood, my mom made wedding gowns and bridesmaids’ dresses for a living. ‘Family Night’ was usually my mom, me, and my little brother, sewing beads onto the crisp, white train of some bride-to-be’s dream dress. There are still boxes of ads and photos of my dream dresses snatched from my mom’s wedding magazines throughout my childhood collecting dust in my parents’ basement; there was no way I could design and sew my dream dress in less than year. The Army also reached into its toolbox and threw the wrench of PCSing (moving) into the mix; this time we had no idea where we would land a mere 4 months before my big day.
Word came a few weeks later about where OccDoc and I were headed. He sat me down at the dining room table that also functioned as a computer desk and mail receptacle in our small, cluttered Maryland apartment. “Baby, I found out where we’re going to be next year.” Next year, in July. Since I met OccDoc as a medical student, our years have always run July to July. Every new duty station was a new year, another chance to start over. That familiar mixture of excitement and anxiety bubbled in my throat. “It’s not in our top 3.” My heart sank a bit, but it couldn’t be that bad. Maybe we had overlooked a really great location when he submitted his picks. “We’re headed out West.” My mind raced with possibilities and my lips pressed together to form a semi-forced smile. Oh, Madigan in Tacoma, I thought, or Fort Carson in Colorado or maybe they switched him over to the Navy and we could go to San Diego. I laughed to myself, if only we could end up in San Diego. Then, he told me. I was confused. I’d never heard of that place before. I asked to see the location on a map. “It’s not on a map. It’s too small. The base is its own little town. Of 800.” 800?! What?! I needed a city, a BIG city like Washington D.C. or Chicago for my playground, not a ‘town’ of 800. Hmmm…this was not good. Could we live off post like we always had? ”That’s another thing. The next closest town is 47 miles through a winding mountain pass. Sometimes you can’t get through in winter.” My heart pounded. I could feel my lungs seize up and breathing became difficult due to the enormous lump rising in my throat. Um, where was I going to live? My voice was squeaking; I blinked to see through the mist clouding my vision. “We need to think about moving the wedding up to June, so you can live on post with me.” ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!
I was an Army fiancé. And an Annoyed Army Fiancé at that! I was resourceful and smart. I could think of something. After a few weeks of fighting, researching, crying, and scheming, I finally relented and gave into getting married earlier, but I was going to have my dream wedding, too. Our plan was to run off to Las Vegas, elope, keep it secret, then get married 11 months later in front of our loved ones, and no one would be the wiser (we did end up having to tell our priest, but no one else from our family or close friends know to this day). We picked up the rental car after we landed at 2200 and drove straight to the Clark County Clerk Office to make it before they closed at midnight. With our marriage license in hand we headed over to our hotel for our last night of ‘living in sin’.
In the afternoon heat on Dec. 19, 2007, a week after OccDoc’s 34th birthday, we were sitting in the parking lot of the Allure Wedding Chapel calming our nerves trying to breathe deep and slow, but only raspy, quick breaths seemed to be coming out. Our feet crunched on the gravel parking lot as we went inside. We took our vows under an arch of faded peach silk roses, pale green stringy ivy, and old Christmas lights. I held a borrowed bouquet of tattered red fake roses trying in vain to match my red shoes. For the low price of $119, including the cost of a witness, we become official that sunny afternoon in less than 10 minutes. After the wedding, we went to the Stratosphere to have dinner in the revolving dining room 800 feet in the sky overlooking the Las Vegas Strip. We shared the elevator ride up with another newlywed couple. They were giggling and kissing each other; OccDoc and I laughed under our breaths while containing our secret. She had a veil and white dress – the whole nine yards. I just had on a nice black dress with some killer red pumps; I looked like any other diner there that evening. No one knew we just got married, unless they looked at the brilliant rings gleaming on our left hands.
After dinner we went to our hotel to see a show. Neither of us had been to a topless show, and it sounded fun so we gave it a shot. Obviously (knowing OccDoc), it was my idea to see a topless revue. We had front row seats. The show started, and the girls appeared on stage (still fully clothed). They were singing a song while walking through the audience encouraging audience members to sing along when the mic was held in front of them. I sank lower in my seat. I’m sure God cringes when sing in church, so there was no need for these people to suffer. OccDoc, on the other hand, sat up straighter. Years of contest choir in Catholic school had left the boy with a serious set of vocal chords. Sure enough, the mic was thrust just inches from his lips and a perfectly pitched few notes come out. The singers headed back up on stage, but grabbed OccDoc’s arm and brought him with them. I was cracking up! My ribs hurt and I couldn’t catch my breath in between giggles. OccDoc’s face was bright red. The music blares, and a dance number started. Twelve, beautiful, topless women dance around OccDoc. He tried to fight the urge, but the showboy in him begs to be let out and soon he joins in the dance number. The audience of nearly 400 eggs him on. The number drew to a close. The bare-chested women encircle OccDoc. A cheeky brunette saunters up to him and says in a low, throaty voice, “So, OccDoc, which one of these girls is your favorite?” OccDoc looks the topless woman right in the eye and with a trembling voice says, “My wife”. His shaky finger points at a chubby, fully-clothed woman in the front row. My cheeks erupt with fire, and the whole audience roars.
That was the first time I heard OccDoc refer to me as his wife in public. Surrounded by a dozen half naked showgirls on his wedding night and I’m the one he picks. Two and a half years later I’m still his favorite.
Be sure to visit The Annoyed Army Wife at her blog!
