We partied in Las Vegas on my three-week vacation with dart buddies from Channel Marker in Edmonds, Just Left in Lynnwood and Cactus Moon in Everett.
There was a big surprise in store for me that sent fumes out my nose.
Surprises just aren’t my thing.
Forget about my birthday. I haven’t liked it since I turned 40. Mother’s Day is for my mother, not for me. Mom likes sentimental greeting-card holidays. I tell my kids not to bother coming over that Sunday.
Don’t fuss over me.
Please.
On my vacation, I found out how far my husband, Chuck, would go to thwart my surly attitude.
In Nevada, we floated down the Colorado River and polished off a couple of bucket-list items by seeing Donnie and Marie Osmond perform at the Flamingo Las Vegas and finishing a hat trick that took four years: riding all three terrifying rides on top of the Strastophere Las Vegas Hotel and Casino. Two of them include a dangle, like hanging off the Space Needle.
And I ate a yummy deep-fried Twinkie at a Nathan’s Famous Hot Dog place.
I was instructed to be ready for an outing at 3 p.m. one afternoon. Eight of us got into a limo and headed to a very cheesy wedding chapel.
What was up?
Uh oh.
It was showtime for Kristi, and I was miffed. Chuck thought our summertime 35th wedding anniversary warranted a redo of our wedding vows.
Yuck.
He knew I didn’t like such fluffery. How could he do that to me?
My girlfriends grabbed my elbow and snarled that I’d better plaster a smile on my face. They told me that Chuck had planned this whole shindig back home in Mill Creek, and I was to show my appreciation.
Harrump.
The question for me was which fake bouquet I wanted to carry, the pink one or the purple? Pink. Whatever.
Could this get any worse?
I limply held silk flowers waist-high while pictures were snapped.
After our friends joked about which side to sit on, for the bride or groom, music began and Chuck escorted me down the aisle as if I were Princess Diana.
So silly.
A minister we’d never met blathered on, the usual stuff, and I did my best to be pleasant. When the speaker go to the part about the importance of rings, I flashed back 35 years ago when two hippies exchanged engraved silver bracelets.
Neither Chuck nor I wanted traditional wedding bands.
Such a sentimental fool, I lost my bracelet decades ago.
“Rings symbolize the joining of a man and a woman” the officiant droned.
Blah, blah, blah.
Chuck turned to his right. His best friend, Tom Williams from Lynnwood, handed him a grey velvet box.
Hmmmmm.
This was an unexpected twist. Chuck opened the lid and, as in the movies, the sparkle of a three-diamond ring nearly blinded this beholder.
He’d bought me the first diamond I’ve ever owned.
It slipped smoothly on my finger.
I beamed to my friends and mouthed, “I got real bling!”
What a sweet hubby. I even told him a couple of times he got me good.
Can you imagine someone saving up so much dough in their stash?
That’s surprising.
Kristi O’Harran: 425-339-3451, oharran@heraldnet.com.
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