This certainly wasn’t how I pictured my dream wedding, but sometimes you just have to be happy with what you’ve got. For most of my life, it’s been impossibly expensive grape juice and silver platters, servants and maids. Not today. Today, it’s a greasy floor and a wedding dress made out of leaves. And honestly, I couldn’t be happier. I’ve got Romero and that’s all that matters. We’re together for the rest of our lives, now. Even if we never make it home, I’ll be happy.
He, of course, dragged his feet the entire time. We tried getting back to civilisation, but after a few hours in the oppressive bush, I’d had enough. “That’s it!” I said. “If I have to walk through this stupid bush any longer, I’ll start hallucinating something like air conditioning! Canberra must be weeks away! If I’m going to perish in the outback, I’ll do it married to you, Romero Monologue. So stop complaining and follow me back to Frier Laura’s chapel.”
“Yes dear,” he said, following slowly after a lengthy argument. Why do men have to be so difficult? I suppose I should probably cut him some slack. He is legally my husband now. And yes, I am sure it was legal, because Frier Laura showed us his marriage certificate, which they would only give to a certified celebrant.
Tell you what, though, it was dang hot in that chapel. I asked Frier Laura if we could put the air conditioning on, but he just said that he’s been waiting to hear back from an air conditioning repairs company close to Canberra for months now (to which I responded by pointing out that his phone was unplugged, not that you’d be able to get a phone connection this far out anyway).
So no, it wasn’t the wedding I’d always imagined. The thing is, my family would never agree to me marrying a Monologue anyway, so we were always going to have to elope. Who cares whether it’s in Hawaii or Roto, New South Wales? We’re together, and that’s all that matters.
– Julia Catapult