100 days ago, I ate muffins with hoards of family and friends stuffed in my tiny house while hairs got did and faces got primped and aunts oooed and ahhed. I got laced into a big pile of pretty ruffles, stuck my mom's veil in my hair and rushed to get two blocks away to the church. We took deep breaths. I took a short walk with my dad and held hands and shared a dirty tissue with my best pal while our people played on bingo cards made just for that day. We got married and kissed and walked through the sunshine. We saw other people who'd just done what we did and handily beat them in a sipping contest. We made our way up three flights and into a room of happy people. We ate cheese and drank homebrew and toasted with heirloom cognac and sang loud and danced like maniacs and laughed.
And that was just the beginning.