Alex and I very nearly didn’t make it down the aisle.

And it is not because he tried to have me fired when he started at the restaurant I worked at.

Seriously – the man had been there five seconds and decided I had an “attitude problem”.

I maintain that he was just scared by what I represented, while he sticks to his story that I had a problem with authority and he didn’t appreciate me labelling him an arse to the rest of the staff … anyways, bygones.

It wasn’t the reason we very nearly didn’t get married.

No, Amy and Alex were on the cusp of becoming separate entities because of something much more serious.

A road trip.

Or to be more exact, directions on a road trip.

It was when we were planning our wedding.

We decided we wanted to hold it on the Gold Coast (where I grew up) and were driving around the hinterland looking for somewhere which met our requirements – cheap and kinda homey.

Which meant that we were looking at B&Bs in the middle of nowhere.

Which meant that neither of us had a clue where we were going.

All we had to guide us was a street directory from the 1980s which insisted that the area we were driving through was actually non-developed bushland.

But Alex refused to give up and had us driving in circles for a good two hours.

I know we were driving in circles because we passed the same shop five times.

The same shop that Alex refused to stop at.

Eventually he had no choice but to stop, because I was threatening to throw myself from the moving car.

Seriously, I even had the door open.

So he stopped, but refused to go in.

Which sort of defeated the purpose, because I have a habit of asking for directions but then not listening to the answer.

Seriously.

In my head, I’m even telling myself to listen to what I am being told – and I am so busy telling myself to concentrate, that I end up missing what the person has said.

But Alex refused to come in and ask, so I had to return to the car and mumble something about us being close by but we needed to turn left or right at the intersection.

When in doubt, the Remeikises have a habit of always turning left – don’t ask me why, I don’t know either, but we are like Derek Zoolander that way – which is what Alex and I ended up doing that fateful day.

Which is how we ended up in the middle of the middle of nowhere with almost no fuel, no mobile reception and no communication.

By stumbling around in the bush, we did manage to find an information map thingy, but then we couldn’t agree on where we were on the map.

Which ended with me stomping off in one direction and Alex in the other.

Which then meant I had to stomp off after him, because I didn’t know where the hell I was and he was a boy scout when he was younger which I thought would come in handy if we were stuck there for the night.

At the very least I figured his dead body could be used to keep the wolves from being interested in me

Eventually we made our way out of the forest of death and found ourselves at our destination – only because I realised that I used to go to band camp (don’t even start) in the area and the place we were headed to was right next door where the crazy farmer would shoot at us with an air rifle (good times, good times.)

Now if someone had said to me, “Amy, the manor is right next door to crazy farmer man and down the road from the pointy rocks”, I would have had no hassles finding the place.

As it was, Alex and I didn’t speak to each other the entire time we were looking at the place (which was really comfortable, I’m sure, for the poor manager who became our interpreter) and we didn’t speak during the three hours it took to get home either.

In fact we didn’t speak until he bought a new street directory, which I took as an apology and he meant as a tool to get me from turning left all the time.

Obviously, we ended up getting married.

We even got married at the place which almost caused our demise.

But he still has no sense of direction and even though I like to call myself a navigational genius, I still have a habit of not listening when someone is trying to give me directions.

And even though he threatens to get me a GPS for Christmas, instead of something pretty and sparkly, I maintain that until they start saying “turn left at the billboard with the fireman and then right after the tree which looks like Madonna” I don’t think it will help.