Remember when I promised I was done talking about weddings? I lied.

We had a wedding photographer. Obviously. Dave is a wedding photographer, but I drew the line at him buying one of those remote control thingys and a tripod so he could take his own wedding photos. I will say "yes" to the Bengals socks. No to the remote control and tripod idea. Sorry.

But, even as I told Dave to leave his ginormous camera bag at home, I brought my tiny digital "flash on or off, these are your choices, lady" camera. Because, you know, our photographer could be off shooting pictures of the cake, and I would want a photo instead of my sister tearing apart her plate because she is 10 and "GOSH do you guys have any other food?"

Exactly. So a digital camera was a necessity.

And, if you're lucky, you only get married once. So I used up pretty much all the space on my teeny little memory card taking pictures of a groomsman with a garter around his head like Rambo, yelling "WE'RE GOING TO THE WORLD SERIES" (Tigers fan), and my sister, you know, eating Styrofoam because "GOSH it's better than eating THAT." It's cute. I promise.

And, as a reward for writing all my thank-you notes like a good bride, I let myself get multiple copies of prints this weekend.

Who would've thought it would cost me almost $70? Surely not the woman behind the one-hour photo desk who was screaming for mercy as my order just. Kept. Printing.

Then you throw in the photo albums because you can't put gorgeous wedding photos in a crappy album and call it a life. No. You have to get red. Because that is our color. And ooh, that black one. Because that is Dave's color. And it says "Photos" on it so if it's ever laying on the coffee table you can be assured you know what you are getting. So ... pretty photos, fabulous album ... Happy? No.

It's all just a front.

You see, my wedding photos, the real ones, the ones taken not by me in a giddy whirl of excitement, are sitting at Mom's. Probably on her laundry room counter, right next to the Hootie and the Blowfish cassettes and the LTD catalogue. Or they will be sitting there soon. They're sitting there, all nice and DONE in OHIO and I am here, hello, in Wisconsin.

And will we trust the United States Postal Service to deliver our wedding photos on time, guaranteed? No. We have bad luck. And you can't mess with wedding photos.

Alas, I don't get to see them until Thanksgiving when my mom and stepdad bring them up in a locked, armored vehicle. Then all will be right with the world. Or at least my peace of mind.

I am so impatient.