Proof . . .
I mean I "knew" I was getting married when I asked someone to, you know, MARRY me but I didn't really think - in that cold, crisp air with the jolting smell of dead fish wafting by and the awkward glances of fellow cold, fish-filled air revelers casting about - that it was something that would ever smack me in the face or get "real".
Sure, sure. The ring shopping, the talking with her parents (and I thought actual negotiations were a bit much but my future father-in-law drives a hard bargain and knows the value of his offspring (I jest)), the actual asking, the announcements, the discussions, the (actual) negotiations over ceremony components, the hand wrangling over the bridal party and participants (some of whom are still yet to be asked/informed/negotiated with (I've got a few goats left to give, folks)), the constant "How's wedding planning going?", the save the dates (the hours and hours and hours spent stamping little tags and tying strings and putting satin circles on metallic honey caps and putting the whole thing on the save the dates (why can't THOSE f*cking things be resolved with goats?)), the searching for kippah and cufflinks. The hunting for the perfect ketubah and the tearful (happy tears) review of the language options and the discussion of Jon vs. Yon vs. John vs. Jean as one translates my future father-in-law's name.
It has been "real" (and (generally) wonderful) for many months and yet it was just last night (214 days after "popping the question" and nearly 3/4 of the way through our betrothal period) that I got PROOF that we were getting married.
Debash, you see, put our actual invitations to bed and I was emailed a PDF that put it right there - in "midnight navy" and "aged copper" ink on a double-weighted, "still grey" stock was the succinct (I'm trying to be less verbose (he says, hundreds of words in to a blog post)), simple fact that I'm getting married. I need to review, and approve these details (which we provided) that state for the whole world (or at least the 115 households on the invite list) that we are - in fact - getting married.
It is true. I have (a) PROOF. And a wonderful future father-in-law, wonderful day to look forward to, and amazing, squishy-faced genius to spend my life with.