We have a manila-colored marriage license in hand and strict orders to wait 72 hours before tying the knot. This is news to me. I sort of thought we’d get the license, hop over to the courthouse, and have this all finished by dinner time. 72 hours feels like a lifetime—certainly enough time for this sugar high to wear off and for us to realize how utterly irrational this all is. I don’t want to think.
