Introduction
It was supposed to be the happiest day in my life, and it was. Sleepless nights, anxiety attacks, incessant daydreaming and uncontainable happiness harassed me daily. I did not know what to think or what to expect. Like a punter at a race course, I crossed my fingers, made a silent prayer and hoped for the best. On such a day, everything was supposed to be flawless, immaculate clothes, faultless hairstyle, impeccable smile and even a perfect walk. I was the only person who could spoil the day and I did.
I was late for my own wedding, not by five minutes, ten minutes or thirty minutes, but a solid hour. You probably know the reason. No, I did not wake up with a cheetah in my room, a tattoo on my face or a missing tooth. It was not a Hangover reenactment, but the traditional late groom excuse; I left the wedding rings home. I am a perfectionist who gold plate teaspoons and sugar coat cookies. You can imagine what arrive late for my own wedding made me feel. I entered the marriage with a dent in my pride.
"If you had told me, I would have lent you mine," chuckled my pastor, obviously finding my predicament hilarious.
As I stood by the entrance, waiting for my cue, my pastor's wife continually assured me everything would be fine. I needed that. Beneath the stern and confident facade, lay a small kid crying for help. I needed assurance, encouragement, and someone to pat my back and say, "Go for it, son." Thank God, she was right there, doing exactly that. She has always done that, but that is another story altogether.
All the anxiety, fear and self-loathe evaporated when I entered the church. In jubilation, my family and friends' brought down the roof of the building snuffing away all the negative emotions that was clogged in my heart. It was a day the Lord made, and I rejoiced. I ate, laughed and danced. We exchanged vows and my father-in-law, who was the marriage officer, requested that I tell my lovely bride something that was in my heart. I did an impromptu poem; many people thought I had written it before. It runs in the genes I guess, even Adam got poetic when he saw Eve.
As the festivities came to an end, the sermons preached, the gifts given and the songs enjoyed, there was one problem. Even though I had a beautiful gold ring on my finger, a gorgeous bride on my side and a state-issued marriage certificate, I did not feel married. No, I did not. The same highly opinionated, short, skinny, almost-genius boy who entered the church few hours before, walked out