As a little girl, I never dreamed of being a bride. I dreamed of meeting fellow guests, Duran Duran, on the couch of the Johnny Carson show. John Taylor and I would instantly bewitch each other, exhibiting such undeniable animal attraction that we'd find ourselves on a plane headed toward the champagne glass jacuzzis of the Poconos I had spied in the back of my mom's Cosmopolitan magazines.
Almost 30 years later, with my big day around the corner, I'd been talked out of serving pizza to our reception guests (dudes, it was in BROOKLYN), finished sewing my dress on the hotel bed 20 minutes before the wedding, and a honeymoon was no where near my radar. Ironic, given my childhood affinity for romantic getaways.
Our wedding was already in another city and planned around the holidays. We had jobs to return to. A honeymoon could wait, or maybe it wasn't even important. We figured we'd try to get family together for a Disney trip in the summer or take a long weekend to Mexico. No biggie.
Then we were trapped in a tiny Brooklyn motel room as a result of a post-wedding blizzard for an extra 6 of the least romantic days anyone has spent anywhere. Seriously, I heard what we later identified as rats in the walls and couldn't unhear them, pretty much ever. Instead of being released from the stress, it was multiplied by 100.
Suddenly, I recalled the words of two unrelated friends, equally wise in the ways of marriage. Just before the nuptials, Mike (husband) and I had each received very loving, almost identical insight as to the purpose and importance of a honeymoon.
1. A honeymoon is not a vacation
2. It's important to take the time to de-stress after all the planning and the day itself
3. It's an intimate time to reflect on the your new bond and deepened commitment (that sounded hot to me, but I'd been assured it's not all sexual).
4. It can be a weekend trip, as long as it's just time for each other.
I needed that. Those. We talked it out and agreed. Five honeymoon-less months ago.
Everything. Life, work, a second reception in Chicago for our friends and my family last month. Other commitments. Previous engagements.
I tried recently to put my foot down about it, demanding we have our little retreat before planning any trips to visit family or anything else. I wanted to squeeze in a weekend ASAP. Mike's idea of ASAP is July. He's a busy guy and I'm in the business of compromise these days, so I planned our dream honeymoon**:
Friday through Sunday, dates TBA, at a two-star hotel in beautiful Lincolnshire, Illinois. Conveniently located between self-proclaimed "World's Most Unusual Miniature Golf," Par-King and the bonny confines of the Regal Lincolnshire IMAX. I know us. Bond, eat, mini golf, nap, bond, eat, movie, sleep, repeat 3X. POW, Honeymooners!
** I think I may have just gotten a promise to stop in the Poconos on our next trip East after I sent Mike a link proving the champagne glass hot tubs still exist (now if I can just get over the toxic soup I'm convinced mutates in those things).