Gearing up for marriage can be a challenging time, depending on how much you’re willing to organize. My dad proposed to my mom in their tiny piston driven airplane (she couldn’t vamoose). She said yes, and according to Colorado common law, they were husband and wife.
My marriage is a bit more detailed than that. We’re going the full nine and are having a blast in the process. Sure there’re hiccups like coordinating schedules, picking the wedding party and who to invite, but overall it’s planning a giant party with your loved ones.
One hiccup that hasn’t relaxed till five minutes ago is my suit. Being über tall and rail thin poses logistical nightmares for finding a suit. I wouldn’t care so much if it wasn’t my beautiful bride and I, front and center, for all our family and friends to see. After numerous attempts, and the usual procrastination, I settled on getting a custom suit.
The day my suit was ready to be picked up, I pedaled into Berkeley excited with anticipation. Trying the suit on I immediately noticed something wrong. It felt as if small pythons were mistaking my armpits for baby capybaras. This couldn’t be. I thought I got this baby custom. Ugh.
Turns out the suit tailors thought my 39.5 was my chest size WITH jacket (I’m not that scrawny) instead of it being my skin measurement. It already took three weeks to get the suit from the tailors and the wedding was 10 days away. Panic kicks off Plan B gearing as I tell my fianceé, who’s there with me, that the suit seems a no go.
Fast forward through frustration, suit hunting and some berating (“This is why I told you not to wait!”), we find out that the local tailor can semi-fix the tightness. She does. I try it on. Almost there. The sleeves need lengthening (boy, where did custom ever come into play with this thing) and a few other minor points of alteration.
Present day, and another ride into Berkeley praying it’s my last. Current tally: 4 Xtracycle rides, two single-speed and one BART trip – not to mention the other visits during the suit replacement scramble. I try on the suit. Feels great, but wait… What’s this? Why is one sleeve longer than the other? Did I mention I’m leaving on a plane tomorrow at 7:50AM and you’re about to close…. NOOOOO! The owner gets the tailor to stay late, promising me to bring the suit by this evening. I accept fate, hop aboard my Big Dummy and roll home.
Almost to the domicile, and talking on my earphones with future wifey about the rollercoaster (or is it rollercoat?) of the day, I randomly take a street earlier than my usual. The warm setting sun lights me from behind. I notice an overgrown orange tree and wonder why more urban fruit tree owners don’t donate their fruit to shelters. Then I notice a book on the curb, it doesn’t take me long to see what it is and elation erupts in my heart.
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein. On the edge of the sidewalk, no less. Another glorious curb find, and one that reflects the unknown future we all waltz, stumble and pedal down. May this be an omen of good tidings and glorious excitement.
Catch y’all on the flip side(walk).
Just one of the many great curbside finds I've been fortunate enough to find.
P.S. Have suit in hand. All systems go!
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