Four days ago, I became engaged to The Boy. There were fireworks (literal fireworks, because it was New Years Eve, at midnight) and glasses of
champagne leftover cider from Christmas because that was all we had in the house. It was a great time.
Then the wedding planning started, bringing with it a lot of questions and – who are we kidding here? – judgements from relatives.
The Boy and I aren’t your most traditional couple by nature. Oh sure, he wants a church wedding and I want a pretty white dress. I want my father to walk me down the aisle and he wants a stag night to remember (or forget, depending on how much he has to drink).
Where we differ from blind tradition is deciding which surname to take after we marry. Continue reading