💒 Fifty Bucks and a Pink Dress: Our Not-So-Fairy-Tale Wedding

Every little girl dreams of a fairy tale wedding…
👑 Yeah, I wasn’t really one of those girls.

Maybe once upon a time, when I was small and didn’t know any better. But by the time I was 18, fairy tales had pretty much lost their sparkle. I wasn’t looking for a prince—I was looking for a good man I could build a life with. And somehow, I found one.

Gary and I had been dating off and on for about a year. He’d gone back to Washington, I’d ended up in Kamloops, and then I was back on the farm again (now that’s a story for another day). I was stretched out on Mom and Dad’s couch, watching TV, being my usual lazy self, when Mom popped her head in and said, “Gary’s here.”

I didn’t even get up. I just laid there and waited for my not-so-fairy-tale prince to walk in. And he did—knelt right down next to me, looked me in the eye, and said,
👉 “I’ve got something to ask you.”

I said, “What is it?” thinking maybe he brought snacks or wanted to change the channel.

Instead, he said,
💍 “I want you to marry me… but there’s something else.”
And boy did that get my attention.

Turns out, he had taken in a teenage boy who came from a tough situation back in Washington. He wanted us to do it together—as a team. So there it was: A marriage proposal and instant parenthood. I mean, how could I say no? The man had driven all the way back just to ask me in person. That alone was worth packing my bags.

So off we went, back to Everett. We lived with his niece Dorothy for a bit (bless that hide-a-bed). One night, while we were flopped out on that lumpy couch, Gary asked if I wanted kids of our own someday. I told him I did—and I swear I got pregnant that very night. 😂

Not long after, we got our own place and Todd moved in with us. I wrote a letter to Mom to say we were thinking about getting married… eventually. I told her we’d need to save up. A few days later, I got a letter back with a money order for $50 tucked inside. Mom wrote, “Hope this helps with the wedding.”

Back then, fifty bucks was a lot of money. I showed it to Gary when he got home from work, and he said, “Let’s do it.”

👗 I found a pretty pink dress at Kmart for five bucks. Gary bought me a ring (cheap and cheerful!), and we still had $25 left. We were rolling in it!

Gary picked up the phone book and started looking for a justice of the peace. Then he looked up and started laughing.
“You know what would be funny?” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“If we got married by the same judge who sent me to juvenile detention.”

Well, guess what? That’s exactly what we did. 😅

📅 On August 21, 1976, we got married in that judge’s living room. Char (Gary’s niece—the one who introduced us!) and her new husband stood up for us. We said, “I do,” and snapped a couple of photos at the park down the road. Boom, we were married and broke. The last $25 paid the judge.

That night, Gary’s sister Maureen threw a little celebration at her house. All the Washington family showed up—Montana folks, not so much. But Maureen and Norm’s house was the place for a party. Now, I wouldn’t call it a dance floor kind of party, but there was a poker table, and that was just as good.

🥳 There was only one problem—we didn’t have a wedding cake. So Maureen ran to the store, grabbed one, and had them write “Congratulations Gary and Wanda” on it.

There were a few kids at the party, and of course they were all hovering around that cake. Little Tommy, just four years old, stood there with those big puppy dog eyes, waiting patiently for a slice. I felt bad for the kid, so I pulled off one of the bells from the cake and handed it to him like it was a golden prize.

His whole face lit up. Then… crunch.
Yep. He bit right into it.
Plastic.

He got his cake after that, and the rest of us got a good laugh.

That’s how Gary and I got married—with fifty bucks, a pink dress, and a whole lotta love. No fairy tale… but it was ours.

☁️ Wanda-ism:

Turns out, happily ever after doesn’t always start with a carriage ride. Sometimes it starts with a phone book, a hide-a-bed, and the same judge that locked up your husband.