Yes, that’s right, me. 41 year old me. Getting hitched. Joined. Handfasted. Married.
Not right this second! But in the next year (two if things go not the way we plan) it looks like.
Me. Handfasted. Whoda thunk. And to a man I’ve known for four years but only started dating this January. And yes, I’m going to tell you a story.
So no shit, there we were. Me, my love, my coven and 65 other people, enjoying a weekend of frivolity. (A private event/adult house-type-party where we cross into faeryland and play as pirates and faeries for the weekend.) Friday night, we’re just on site, and the coven does a kick-ass ritual where we draw down the moon (me) and then the pirate king (my partner) steals the moon/me away and up to Aphrodite’s Temple.
My partner (BJ) and I had been asked to open and bless the temple this year (the Temple’s 19th year – we’ve been partying at this site for some time, under various labels and experiences, but always there is a temple to Her).
It’s a crappy picture, but the only one I can find of the temple, even going back several years. Anyway, no shit, there we were, the moon and the pirate king, in a temple of Aphrodite, celebrating and sharing with each other, when my love turns to me and says “I want you to be my wife”.
We toasted with the raspberry pomegranate mead he had insisted that we take with us to bless the temple. We celebrated.
We came back to our cabin and celebrated with our dear friends. We found other dear friends and shared the news. There was much sharing and celebrating and pirating and faerying.
I’m getting married.?!