We’re supposed to be getting married in July 2020. My suit is hanging in the spare room closet next to her dress. Our shoes are nestled, unworn, in their respective boxes. On our dresser sits a row of shiny jewellery boxes holding rings, cufflinks, earrings, necklaces – all waiting for that special day. My suit is grey and my shirt pink. I’m to wear a pink and blue floral tie and my shoes are white snakeskin with gold paint flecks. I consider myself a butch bride, though all the pink might throw some people off.
We’ve been together 9 years by the time I’m writing this. We talked about weddings on our first date, but obviously had to wait a while for the law (and my precarious health) to catch up to the fact that we were obviously meant to be together forever. I’ve had 5 brain surgeries, 3 foot surgeries & 2 psych admissions between first date and proposal and she’s stood with me through them all.
Of course, there’s every chance this butch bride might not get her chance to walk down the aisle after all. Who knows what July 2020 will bring?