How I Got Married, Part 2

Part 2: 19 Hours From Here to Las Vegas

I blame Jason Aldean. Yep, I'm going to lay the blame squarely at the feet of a country singer and his song named after another, slightly more famous country singer. On our way back home from St Louis, just as we were making this sharp entrance onto one highway from another, we heard the song "Johnny Cash"--- "Quit my job flipped off the boss took my name of the payroll.(I outta here man) Picked up my cell rang my baby's bell said I'm three miles from home. I said sugar why don't you put on that sundress I like so much, Wait out by the road I'm comin' to pick you up. (whoa) Throw your suitcase in the back, (whoa) Done gassed up the pontiac, (whoa) Blastin' out to Johnny Cash, headin' for the highway, Baby we ain't ever comin' back.It's four hundred and sixty seven miles to the outskirts of Las Vegas. What do you say we go get married by a preacher man that looks like Elvis. (yeah momma) Sugar don't you worry bout tellin' your momma goodbye, We'll send her a souvenier postcard from the wild side. (whoa) Throw your suitcase in the back, (whoa) Done gassed up the pontiac, (whoa) Blastin' out to Johnny Cash, headin' for the highway, Baby we ain't ever comin' back." When he sang the part about going to Vegas to get married, BT and I just looked at each other, smiled, and laughed. We laughed then, but I think it planted the seeds for what we would do later that night.

Once we were back at my house, I was supposed to just be taking him back to the house where he stayed in Local College Town. But I wasn't feeling entirely well and he wanted to copy a DVD or two before he left. Plus, I just didn't want to not be with him. So, we hung out around my house, cuddling and talking for hours. Finally, one of us, I don't think either of us can remember which, brought up flying to Vegas. I think he joked that he had the time and I joked that I had the money so we checked online plane ticket prices. But it was just a joke. Wasn't it?

Of course, none of the flights left until 6am the next morning. So, on a lark, we checked Mapquest to see how long it would take to get to there by car. And it said that it was only 19 hours from my house to Vegas. Only 19 hours. It didn't really seem that long. And suddenly, we were both even more giddy, smiling, and actually thinking about driving to Las Vegas that night to get married.

Wait, wait, wait---What are we doing? What am I doing? BT was standing there, grinning from ear to ear, and very clearly ready to go as soon as I said the word. This was all happening too fast. I had to take a step back. I had to get a second opinion. As Mon Parrain was still unreachable, out of country on a business trip, I settled for the next best thing, the very logical, never-rush-into-anything Sir.

I talked to Sir for about an hour. I told him all about what had happened over the weekend in St Louis, about the engagement. He had always said that he would never let me do something incredibly stupid that I couldn't come back from. I expected it would be the same in this instance. And, of course, he came at me with every logical, smart reason why I shouldn't run off to Vegas. Then, just as I was about to let him go for the night, knowing that the smart, wise, reasonable decision would be to wait, to not go to Vegas, I stole something that I'd heard BT say earlier, "It's just that he is the first person I've been with where I don't feel like I have to be someone else." Sir sighed into the phone, "Well, YOU would run off to get Vegas and get married."

Even though that pretty much made up my mind, I still had to spend another hour or so laying in BT's arms, gathering the courage, before I agreed to leave. He was still all smiles but no pressure, probably because he knew I would agree eventually. At one point, I remember telling him that I was just wondering what would happen if I called his bluff. His answer? "But I'm not bluffing." Finally, I looked BT in the eye and said, "Ok, let's go." While I was taking one last bathroom break before hitting the road, BT took it upon himself to empty my suitcase from the weekend, so I could pack new, clean clothes for the trip. I packed the bag as hurriedly as he had unpacked it for me. He said we didn't need to stop off at his place for more clothes for him. And with that, we were off.

Well, almost. Before we even made it to the highway, we were stopped by a cop. As I waited for the officer to come to my door, all I could think was, "This is it. Somehow my mom knows what we are planning on doing and she called the cops to stop us. Sir probably called her. If not, this is at least one really bad omen." The officer explained that he had stopped me because the light above my license plate was out. As he took my license and insurance information from me, he asked the typical cop question, "Where are you guys going tonight?" I figured it wouldn't hurt to tell him the truth. "We're going to Vegas to get married," I sighed. "Really?" "Yep." "That's awesome. That's so awesome. Well, I'm just going to run your license and then you guys can be on your way. That's just so awesome."

As the cop went back to his cruiser to run my driver's license, I stared at BT in disbelief. Instead of the thorough lashing I thought I would get from the cop, not to mention the speeding ticket I had been sure I was in for, he had been truly psyched about the whole thing. We both had to laugh. It was a good omen after all. Without a ticket or even an official warning, though with quite a few more "awesomes", the cop returned my license and sent us on our way.

And that's all for tonight children. I'll pick up where I left off once I've slept off this awful weekend.