I paid for my own wedding (did I mention my husband is Scottish?)

I paid for my own wedding.

It was a big bash on the bonny banks of Loch Lomond in a five-star country house hotel with salmon and roast lamb for dinner, an 18-piece marching pipe band, several out-of-country guests and several more bottles of French wine.

It was truly the best day of my life.

I never expected my parents to pay for my wedding. You get to a certain age and it really isn’t appropriate.

I planned the event. The bills came to me. I paid them out of my accounts.

We never talked about who was going to pay for what. Ultimately, it didn’t matter, right?

When we were engaged, my mother presented me with a family diamond ring, which my grandmother had purchased on a trip to Amsterdam in the 60s. My mother had saved it for me, and said I could reset it to whatever I wanted.

When I saw it, I could clearly remember the white gold ring with the simple four diamond setting on my grandmother’s third finger. I decided it was perfect.

My Glaswgian fiancé could not believe his luck.

I recently pointed out to my now hubby that I paid for our wedding.

You know what he said?

“You knew I was Scottish when you married me.”

This post first appeared a few years ago, but as I recently visitied the bony banks of Loch Lomond, I decided to publish again.