Saturday was wet. And neither of us had coats. And we got caught in some pretty heavy showers. And I’d spent a good chunk of the morning curling my hair, which I didn’t want to get drenched. So we ran down the High street, my cardigan over my head, our hands clutching each other and our freshly purchased coffees, hurriedly on our way to Ernest Jones, to buy our wedding rings before the ticket expired on the car.
The day had the potential to be a bit of a flop, I suppose, depending on how you look at things. I mean, we’d gone all that way, sat in all that unexpected University open day traffic only to discover that we were too early to begin swiping items for our John Lewis wedding gift list. Something about stock and how it changes. Blah, blah, blah.
And so we only registered. And we could have done that at home. Without getting wet in the many, sporadic showers that we were ill-equipped for.
But we made the most of it. We browsed and made mental notes of all the things we’d like to fill our house with, our married home with. From coffee machines, to Hoovers, to bed linen and towels and a TV that would transform the lounge into a private cinema.
We had Sushi for lunch, doused in soy sauce, sipping Diet Coke purely because it’s free on Slimming World and I’d like to shift a few pounds before our big day. Although I’m not sure where Sushi sits on the Syn scale.
Then we found ourselves in Ernest Jones, my engagement ring no longer on my finger but in a cleaning machine at the back of the shop, out of sight. And I’d never felt anxiety like it. Because if anything ever happened to this ring of mine, that I’ve come to love so very much, not only because of its undeniable beauty but because of the amazing meaning behind it, I’m not quite sure what I would do. But sure enough it was reunited with my finger pretty soon, looking more sparkly than ever, catching and shining brightly in the shop light. And we left soon after, having bought two white gold bands, in different thicknesses and cuts, that we will slip onto each others fingers one day soon. And suddenly that made all the traffic worth it.
And the traffic on the way home was made worth it too, because the slower pace allowed us to fully appreciate the rainbow that stretched extravagantly across the sky, as if someone had painted it across the clouds. The red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet, undeniable, there in the sky.
Then we were back home, in the warmth of our home, sitting at the table, you looking over some work whilst I wrapped presents and wrote cards for upcoming events. A relatively enjoyable experience until you knocked my mug of tea over, narrowly missing my phone and the gift being wrapped. You do make me laugh. I thought I was the clumsy one.
And then we ran out into the downpour again, hopping over puddles and into the shelter of your car, driving to church for a quiz night. A quiz that was written without younger generations in mind. A quiz that actually had a whole round on obscure types of fruit and nuts. A quiz that made us guffaw with laughter, sharing in the hilarity of our pitiful answers.
Returning home, to a large glass of red wine and the sweet knowledge that we still had Sunday to savour. That beautiful buffer that keeps Monday far away, safely at bay.