Wedding Vows for Two Brides (2 Minutes)

The vows

Coralie, the first thing you ever gave me was a mug you made in a Tuesday night pottery class. It leans to the left. The handle fits exactly two of my fingers. You told me it was a reject and I could throw it out if I wanted.

I've had coffee out of it every morning for three years.

That's how you give things. You hand over the best stuff like it's an accident, so nobody has to make a fuss. You do it with soup when I'm sick, with the window seat on the train, with the last hour of your Saturday when my mother's taxes are due. Most people don't catch it. I've started to.

So here's what I'm promising you. I'll make a fuss, at least a small one, every time. I will learn to fold a fitted sheet, or I'll stop pretending and hand it to you. I'll keep your clay tools out of the dishwasher. When you're glazing late, I'll bring dinner to the studio and eat it on that wobbly stool by the kiln.

I'm going to tell you when I'm scared, instead of cleaning the whole kitchen about it.

And when a hard year comes, I choose to keep showing up, plainly, every day of it.

You're marrying a woman who drinks out of a crooked mug and calls it her favorite. Make me a few more. I'll use every one of them until the handles wear smooth.

Why it works: The crooked mug is a real object Coralie made, so it carries the point without any big words. The middle names what Coralie does that most people miss, which is the part guests remember. The ending asks for more mugs, so the opening gift turns into a promise about years.