Since you were all so sweet about Parts I and II (really - insanely sweet. I can't get over it), I thought I'd tell you about our wedding ceremony at the Greek Orthodox cathedral where I was christened by the priest who married us. CIRCLE OF LIFE N' STYLES, PEOPLE!!!!1
The Greeks are not known for brevity. Strap in, people - this is going to be a long one.
While my parents and I careen across Manhattan to the cathedral, the guests arrive looking HAWT. The girls are way ahead of me, also looking HAWT but also extremely nervous because someone is late.
Noodle, Pinwheel and Muffin wait outside, wearing the little pearl necklaces I gave them as presents. (When I was seven, a dear family friend gave me his mother's pearls because he didn't have a daughter. The necklace remains one of my most treasured possessions.)
My MoH, aka Blessed Saint, is pacing nervously because she is an event planner and if this were her show, shit would be going down with military precision, with Bono and Beyonce snapping to attention at her command.
But then the white Diddy-mobile arrives and it's GAME ON, BITCHES.
My brothers, whom you may remember from previous episodes on WPM, strut their stuff with my beautiful mom.
Muffin is not sure she's feelin' this flower girl gig. She has to be bribed with M&Ms before making a bee-line down the aisle.
Look at my girls! Aren't they pretty? They're all wearing different dresses in the same color, which MATCHES THE CEILING OF THE CATHEDRAL. Genius - and completely unintentional. Sarah gave them all different bouquets - each one more beautiful than the last.
I stand with my dad in the vestibule as everyone processes. I feel the way you do seconds after someone has jumped out from behind a door screaming, BOO! - shaky and about to pass out from acute hyperventilation.
"Dad," I whisper, barely able to breathe. "I'm so nervous."
My father seems pretty freaked out himself. He looks at me and says, "Right foot first."
And away we go.
As we walk, there is a strange whooshing in my ears and I can't see straight. I feel like I'm dragging a small rhinoceros behind me.
Thank God for the world's shortest aisle, because before long I am at the altar where Fauxhawk is waiting, also looking somewhat overwhelmed.
We stand before the priests, who recite words that have been spoken and chanted since the sixteenth century. It's serious business getting married in the Greek Church - an hour-long tradition that links the bride and the groom to countless others brides and grooms before them.
I have always love the solemnity of this ceremony - there are no vows, there is no room for self expression. The bride and groom say nothing because their mere presence is a testament to their commitment to each other. This is lucky for me, because most self-authored vows make me vom.
My oldest friend is our koumbara, who acts as a witness and sponsor to the marriage. She exchanges our rings three times (odd numbers are indivisible) and places my parents' stefana (crowns) on our heads, again crossing them three times and crowning us king and queen of our household.
Our crowns connected by a single ribbon, we process around the altar three times, simulating a dance of joy.The priests call Fauxhawk "Stavros" throughout the ceremony, turning him into an honorary Greek.
The priests pat our cheeks, smile, and make little jokes. They instantly put us at ease. God is a total laugh riot, people.
It is a profoundly soulful and moving experience.
And then it's kiss the bride tra-la-la skidder-dee-dee skidder-dee-doo.
Let the wild rumpus begin.
Next up: P. develops inappropriate crushes on several band members during the reception but preserves her dignity by belting Bon Jovi into the mike.
All photographs by Lillian and Leonard. More where that came from here (as if you need to see more pictures of us. But seriously, these guys are really talented and leaving aside the fact that their blog is chock full of brides who are skinnier and more fashionable than me, I adore them.)