Man, do we look sharp. Double black suits, fixing each other’s bows. We adjust our boutonnieres. An hour away, both of our hooves are cold and shaking. We both proposed at the falls, Celestia’s sun shining, and water glistening. They said yes. We hugged our girls, hugged each other, and then gave giant group hug. It was such a happy day. Now, as we stand on a grassy field, with a white arc in front of us and balloons forming the aisle. Out come our brides, their white lace flowing in the gentle breeze, the sun reflecting off their faces, tear lines running down them, and smiles plastered on. We both have to hold each other up just to keep from fainting from seeing both of their gorgeous beauties. We take both of our brides’ respective hooves, their foal soft coat resting nicely in our rougher hooves. We both lean now and whisper to our goddesses in white, “You are way prettier than she is,” to which they smirked, glanced at each other and whispered back, “I know.” Hidden giggles followed. The ceremony went perfectly, both of us dipping our bride into the kiss. The reception was lively and long. Our mother cried, and cried, and cried. We both told her to suck it up, to which she punched us, leaving us “groaning” in pain. We went back home, opened a wine bottle, and shared a lovely at-home honeymoon. The four of us were inseparable—me and little bro especially.