I often joke that I am currently in between husbands. I’m married; I’m just in between my first and my third husband. Not to worry. No one laughs harder than Ty, my second hubby. I’m just saying that once you break the seal and start numbering grooms, it’s best if all parties involved have a healthy sense of humour.
I adore Ty but he just doesn’t have that new husband smell. No matter how strong the bond is between us, he will forever be associated with the number two, which is never easy even if one is a fan of scatological comedy. No one aspires to be Buzz Aldrin, relegated to an appearance on Dancing With The Stars. Everyone wants to be Neil Armstrong. Sure, they both landed on the moon but Armstrong was the first to mark it as his territory. Clearly, the first marriage represents the quest for Prince Charming; the second describes more of a Prince Charles scenario. There’s just no candy-coating it: the second husband is the sequel spouse, so you have to hope for The Godfather II, not Electric Boogaloo 2.
Let’s be honest. The first wedding is filled with excitement and a hig honkin’ dose of pomp and circumstance. After a traditional on-bended-knee proposal, it’s followed by umpteen showers and bachelorette parties. Then hundreds of people gather in your chosen house of worship to witness your wedded bliss. Wearing a dress that costs more than a Toyota Prius, there is a gaggle of bridesmaids at the ready as you enter the premises on a unicorn. At the conclusion of the ceremony doves are released, and at the reception Prince plays as cherubs dance.
Meanwhile by the time your second husband comes along, the proposal occurs at a Mexican cockfight at 3 a.m. While the two of you are wearing urine-stained sweatpants and sharing a fistful of Lipitor and a warm bottle of Hennessey, he turns to you and asks, “Wanna do this?” and you answer, “Sure, I could use a Green Card.”
OK, the above may be a slight exaggeration, but my first husband Jon put a large rock on my finger during a fabulously romantic night that involved more candles than Bed, Bath and Beyond and a mass Goth séance combined. At our wedding a gospel choir sang while an army of people (family, local celebrities multiple girlfriends, adorable children and dogs) escorted me down the aisle. Our reception at the AGO featured a string quartet and jazz-great Carol Welsman, four food stations, several nearly award-winning speeches and a couple of wardrobe changes on my part. After our adieus, Jon and I set sail on an exotic cruise. In stark contrast, Ty and I married in Vegas at the Little White Wedding Chapel where three wonderful, albeit inebriated, friends looked on. Ty then flew to Italy for three weeks of work. So basically, only one of us attended our honeymoon.
Did I mention the fact that when a second husband is in play the daunting prefixes “ex” and “step” enter your vocabulary and your world. This can often be either challenging or downright horrifying. Yup, prepare for more baggage than an episode of Hoarders.
But there is a big ‘however’. The second husband brings more experience, wisdom and joy to the position of soul mate. Sure, your first husband is like a new car that you keep washed, waxed and are mindful not to scratch, and the second husband is more like a used car. You may not be as careful with it and even spill occasional drops of coffee on its seats, but you’re never scared to take it off-roading. It’s comfortable and it’s a hell of a lot more fun to drive. Remember: Prince Charming is fictional; Prince Charles is heir to the throne. So although it’s not your first rodeo, you can stay on the ride longer and enjoy it more.