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UPublish story by SharonLynnMontgomery@GMail.com
POSTED: 09:48 a.m. EST, Feb 11, 2008
I was 27 and all of my friends were married. Each had gorgeous engagement rings, weddings, and fabulous honeymoons. I had always dreamed of the same, yet I had accepted the idea that I might be single for the rest of my life.Fast forwarding, I met my husband Bryan in April of 2000 in the apartment building where we both resided. Our paths crossed—literally—in the hallway. I wasn’t seeking a relationship, and neither was he. Before we realized what had happened, love had stricken both of us.
After a few months of dating, we planned a vacation in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. Two weeks prior to our leaving, I blurted out, “we should get married while we’re in North Carolina.” I had issued the “Perfect Proposal”. Bryan helped me find a white dress on the department store sale rack. My $20 wedding band bore no diamonds. Our limousine was my best friend’s topless Jeep Wrangler. Our reception was lunch at a local restaurant. Our honeymoon was in Gatlinburg.
We are now fortunate enough to afford a once unaffordable diamond ring, yet I still insist on wearing my original wedding band. Women may flaunt huge rocks on their hand, but do they have a relationship to match? Love is not about the proposal, number of carats, the extravagance of the reception, the number of gifts, or the destination of the honeymoon. It’s about the size of the relationship.
Oh—those friends—they are all divorced.
I was 27 and all of my friends were married. Each had gorgeous engagement rings, weddings, and fabulous honeymoons. I had always dreamed of the same, yet I had accepted the idea that I might be single for the rest of my life.
Fast forwarding, I met my husband Bryan in April of 2000 in the apartment building where we both resided. Our paths crossed—literally—in the hallway. I wasn’t seeking a relationship, and neither was he. Before we realized what had happened, love had stricken both of us.
After a few months of dating, we planned a vacation in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. Two weeks prior to our leaving, I blurted out, “we should get married while we’re in North Carolina.” I had issued the “Perfect Proposal”. Bryan helped me find a white dress on the department store sale rack. My $20 wedding band bore no diamonds. Our limousine was my best friend’s topless Jeep Wrangler. Our reception was lunch at a local restaurant. Our honeymoon was in Gatlinburg.
We are now fortunate enough to afford a once unaffordable diamond ring, yet I still insist on wearing my original wedding band. Women may flaunt huge rocks on their hand, but do they have a relationship to match? Love is not about the proposal, number of carats, the extravagance of the reception, the number of gifts, or the destination of the honeymoon. It’s about the size of the relationship.
Oh—those friends—they are all divorced.
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