Love is in the air today! Or maybe that’s just the gorgonzola the dog snatched last night.
No matter, tomorrow marks my twelfth wedding anniversary with Pythagoras, and as I promised yesterday, I’ll be sharing the details of our oh-so-romantic betrothal.
Pythagoras and I met as college roommates, and by the time we’d finished school, had moved beyond the realm of two strangers sharing an apartment and into the realm of two people sharing bodily fluids.
Though we’d talked about marriage in the vague “probably someday” sense, we were in no hurry. I think we both pictured something small, maybe a backyard barbecue with a few drunk relatives and a justice of the peace.
Shortly before Valentine’s Day, I spotted an ad enticing people to sign up to win a free wedding at halftime during Portland Trail Blazer game. “We should enter that,” I told Pythagoras, my mind focused mostly on the words “free” and “win.”
“Sure,” said Pythagoras, his mind focused mostly on the pizza we planned to have for dinner.
Though neither of us is much of a basketball fan, I filled out the form and mailed it in along with a photo of the two of us.
On Friday evening, the phone rang. Pythagoras was busy tuning his skis, so I answered.
“Hello?” I asked, expecting a telemarketer.
“Hi, is this Tawna?”
Pleased at my name pronounced correctly, I confirmed my identity. The woman then identified herself as a representative of the Portland Trail Blazers.
“Congratulations,” she gushed. “We’ve chosen you to get married next Friday at center court when the Blazers play Houston.”
“Cool,” I said. “Can you hold on a minute?”
I set the phone down and turned to Pythagoras. “Hey, Pythagoras?”
“We just won a wedding next Friday. Want to get married?”
“Sure,” he agreed, barely glancing up from his skis.
I stared at my future groom, not sure he was grasping the situation. “It’s a real wedding, you know. ‘Til death do us part?”
“No problem. I’m not planning to die for awhile.”
“OK. You do know this takes place in the middle of an NBA basketball game with thousands of people watching?”
Pythagoras paled a little at that, and finally looked up from his skis. “I’m marrying you, right?" Not someone randomly chosen from the audience?”
“You’re marrying me,” I confirmed.
So we agreed to this romantic arrangement, which kicked off a surprisingly stress-free wedding week in which we were provided with everything required to form a blessed union. Rings, tuxes, dresses, cake, flowers, hairdos, even a brief honeymoon in San Francisco – all of it was taken care of as long as we showed up to be measured, coiffed and photographed.
The ceremony itself was less than five minutes long, and took place in front of 21,000 of our closest friends and family, most of whom were stuffing their faces with nachos and gawking at the Blazer Dancers in their tiny tuxedo outfits.
When we were pronounced man and wife, someone yelled drunkenly at Pythagoras, “Your life is over, man!”
Pythagoras beamed at me proudly. “How many guys get heckled at their wedding?”
“You’re a lucky man,” I agreed.
And unlike a romance novel hero who would sweep his new bride into his arms and whisper, “I’m a lucky man indeed,” Pythagoras just grinned wider. “Think they’ll let us watch the rest of the game?”
So that’s the story of my real life romance. Yes, it’s a bit offbeat. No, it probably wouldn’t fit the conventions of most romance novels. But based on the last twelve years, I’d say it fits my idea of romance just perfectly.
Our Portland Trail Blazer Wedding. If only all 21,000 guests had brought gifts!