This Sunday, she will say I do, and he will say I do too

Guest Columnist

“From time to time, I ask myself
Why was it I and nobody else
The most beautiful girl that I'd ever seen
And she chose me . . .”

This is the last column I will write as an unmarried man.

Last December, Brynne said yes.

This Sunday, she will say I do.

I will say I do, too.

I’m very certain that’s what will happen. We will get hitched without a hitch. Count on it.

Photo provided

I don’t anticipate a runaway bride scenario happening. I’ve seen Brynne run—once I think (something to do with a spider)—and I wasn’t overly impressed. I’m pretty sure I could catch up. Unless she runs on asphalt. Then my calves will collapse—and she will get away. Here’s hoping she tries to flee via treadmill.

This will mark my second marriage, the first occurring in 1989, then ending in 2000.

At some point marital bliss became a marital mental blister (I blame myself), but during that time two children resulted. Both represent the enduring bounty of my first marital union.

Do you remember “Eight Is Enough” which debuted in 1977? Eight kids! One family! Were the parents, Tom and Joan Bradford, insane?

In the show, Tom Bradford was a newspaper columnist, which explains why he fathered so many kids. As a fellow columnist, it is not lost on me that having eight children in one household would provide plenty of material to write about. It’s called job security.

I imagine this following scene from “Eight Is Enough.”

SCENE: Bradford bedroom. Joan is in bed, reading. Tom enters.

TOM: What are you reading?

JOAN: Your column.

TOM: Really?

JOAN: It helps me remember the names of our eight children.

Tom unknots his tie. He rubs his balding pate incessantly, a common habit when facing the stress of a newspaper deadline. Earlier in his career, he had a full head of hair.

TOM: I’m out of ideas.

JOAN: Dear god. Not writer’s block again!

TOM: Say, Joan, how would you feel about renaming our show, “Nine Is Enough”?

JOAN: Darling, could we just get a Cousin Oliver to move in? Remember when the show was just called “One Is Enough”? That was seven writer’s blocks ago. You’re killing me, Tom. I’ve been in more stirrups than John Wayne.

I am totally happy with my Two Is Enough child-rearing scenario. Because. Two. Is. Enough.

Suffice it to say, Brynne and I are not having a shotgun wedding. Though I did ponder suggesting that the song for our first dance be Paul Anka’s “(You’re) Having My Baby” just to freak out our parents—and kids.

No, a shotgun won’t be necessary for our nuptials. We don’t even merit a squirt gun wedding. Too bad. A squirt gun wedding seems kind of fun.

But there will be bubbles. Guests will blow bubbles through wands from bottles provided by us as we slow-dance to our first song as The Saalmans—Randy Newman’s “She Chose Me.” The bubbles will signify relaxation, peace, and good fortune for the bride and groom. Brynne and I are long due for relaxation, peace, and good fortune. So, blow those bubbles, dear wedding guests.

I asked a friend/coworker/Euchre buddy named John to perform the ceremony. John has a 4-0 record when it comes to presiding over weddings. No divorces to date! Stop the presses! John surely has the magic marriage touch. The judge granting John the right to marry us called him a “competent, qualified, and reputable attorney.” That is not why I asked John to officiate. I asked him to officiate because all he expects in return is a case of Miller High Life beer. A groom has to cut corners when he can.

Come 11 a.m. this Sunday we will be married outdoors on the IU campus in Bloomington, the site of our first kiss. It will be a small affair. Our parents, our children and their significant others will bear witness.

I didn’t think I’d ever remarry. But that didn’t stop me from searching and searching and searching for someone to, well, NOT marry.

Then I found Brynne.

Brynne brought color – Technicolor is no match for her, nor Kodachrome – to my seemingly dismal black and white world.

She’s the funniest person I know, often beating me to the punchline.

She’s the most caring person I know, too.

Nothing makes more sense than marrying this woman.

Brynne is enough.

Sometime between 11:00 and 11:30 this Sunday, we will have said we do, and we will commence dancing together to a Randy Newman song—and there will be bubbles. All because she chose me.

“From time to time, I ask myself
Why was it I and nobody else
The most beautiful girl that I'd ever seen
And she chose me . . . And she really loves me.”

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