It was 3 months prior to our wedding, and I was slated to head back home to Seattle to work the summer away at Boeing. My wife's father is a photographer, so our last Saturday together was spent roaming around rural Kansas to take pre-bridal pictures. She already had her dress, and I was wearing my tuxedo, complete with tails, from my college choir days. As the sun was setting, we were at the top of a small rise, looking into each other's eyes and smiling as the shutter clicked away.
Just a few feet behind my wife, the hill dropped straight down, forming the back wall for a stockyard. Throughout the entire photo shoot, we smiled as if we were the only man and woman on earth, trying to ignore the sounds and smells that the shifting wind insisted on delivering to us. I was quite skilled at making cow noises and at one point I had the entire yard riled up and making their patent sounds...until the photographer and his daughter became angry with me, and I was forced to relegate the bovine conversation to my thoughts.
None of this is the funny part. That happened later. Several weeks later.
When the photographs were delivered to the studio, the touchup artist opened them up and began looking through them, until she came to the picture. She was completely overcome by hysteria which attracted the attention of my then future father-in-law. He also saw the picture, laughed and then made a phone call to my lovely fiance. "You might want to come down here and look at these pictures." She complied and soon her entire family had seen all the images, including the one that was different than all the others.
The 1600 miles between us prevented me from seeing the picture until shortly before our big day, but I did receive a verbal decription over the phone.
No one was laughing at my stunning bride. Dressed in wedding white, her simple beauty might bring men to tremble and women to tears, but would never invoke laughter. Oh no, the amusing half of the photograph was definitely the groom's side. The Kansas breeze had buffetted us all throughout the session, pulling my bride-to-be's dress in every direction and threatening to steal her veil. Frustrated at how securely it was fastened to her head, the cruel wind unleashed its full fury toward me instead.
It snatched the tails of the tuxedo from behind me and slapping them around my hip just as the shutter opened. Invisible to the naked eye, the camera captured the extra fabric strategically positioned and fashoined into a replica of an item completely inappropriate for a pre-bridal picture. Especially one taken by the bride's own father.
Despite such a scandalous photograph, he chose not to revoke his consent and allowed me to marry his daughter. Truly that was the best decision he ever made, at least from my own perspective.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words...and unfortunately this effort is but half that. If I had the time and energy to produce the remaining balance, I could avoid further humiliation. Alas, I have neither, and am reduced to posting this:
Once you dry your tears of mirth and pry your eyes off of the fool in black, you will notice how gorgeous this midwestern girl was when I married her. Age is usually the enemy of beauty but somehow it treats her so reverently. As each year passes, it merely adds a new layer of beauty to her graceful form.
If only all men could be as blessed as I am.
