You know: jumping the broomstick. Tying the knot. Attaching the ball to the chain. Getting hitched. We're off to get married.

Here's the itinerary, since you're all interested:

We drive to Florida on Thursday. We get a marriage license on Friday. (side note: Florida does not require a blood test--good for us, since we haven't a lot of time, but fairly frightening when considering all the icky things floating around in the flotsam of the human species who aren't necessarily honest). We pick up the tux on Friday. I get a hair consultation with someone who sounds to be the biggest queen in all of Naples, assuring me a perfect hair-do. Who wouldn't want Elton John designing your up-do?

Saturday: The girls get pretty, the boys go out and do whatever boys do. I don't know: Michael is going to be stuck with my dad and his dad and bless his heart, they might go bowling. Meanwhile, my 89 year old grandmother is going to fall asleep at the hairdressers or say something completely inappropriate, which I will explain as old age, but secretly will know differently. Grangie has always said inappropriate things. Bless her heart.

Saturday evening: we get married on the beach, throw sand at one another, and take pictures at sunset. Hopefully, my dress and my butt will not block out all the light.

Sunday: Michael and I (mr. and mrs.) fly off to St. Lucia for our honeymoon, which is predicted to have severe thunderstorms and rain for the entire following week. I am hoping God or Earth or Gandhi's spirit has mercy on us and gives a few favorable days of sunshine so that I am able to get completely inebriated on the beach while knitting. I also hope no stingrays make their acquaintances with either one of us, but particularly Michael, who (while being raised on the shores of Lake Michigan) cannot swim. Perhaps the salt water will aid in his swimming prowess.

I will probably be too drunk to hit the high tides and save anyone from a stingray. Snorkeling is out of the question as that requires some kind of coordination between breathing and not breathing--something that eludes me as it is. However, a massage on the beach may very well be in order, and since we've been very fortunate to have very kind gifts bestowed on us from parents and friends, we may actually be able to afford it.

Meanwhile, I'm obsessing over how the hell I'm going to eat my scrumptious wedding dinner and cake in this torture device called a strapless bra which absolutely does NOT move regardless of my body's positions. So, I'll starve on my wedding and watch everyone else gorge themselves on delectable steaks and delights from the sea. Perhaps when I get back from the all included food buffets at the resort, I will strap that bra on and live in it for a month. Hey, it's worth a shot.

I'm freakin' nervous about all this; not the act, mind you. Michael and I were born to be married--it's pretty nauseating to see us interact. I'm just nervous about all the other stuff that leads up to the marriage.

I'll be back in October. Maybe by then, I'll have reinvested myself in the Blog. 'Till then, take care, I'll miss you, and if you're close to Naples, Florida on the 23rd, come to the beach at 6:30. You'll see us there. (This means you, Madge and Kimberlina).