Matt
I carried my wife over the threshold of the house I'd rebuilt with my hands, and neither one of us said a word about it, because some things are too big to make a joke out of, even for her.
We'd driven up the bluff road from the gazebo in the dark with the windows cracked, cold air and the last of the reception noise fading behind us, her still in her dress and me with my tie loose and her hand on my leg the whole way, not doing anything, just resting there like it had found the one place it was always meant to be.