To try some semblance of “tradition”, I spent the night at my parents’ house, despite the fact that Brian and I had been living together pretty much since our engagement a year-and-a-half prior. I woke up at my leisure instead of really effing early to let my hair dry like my Aunt Jean/hairdresser requested. It was MY wedding day, dammit. Besides I am not a morning person. Then I realized that I was alone at the house because everyone else was at the church already doing day of prep stuff for the wedding. Did anyone remember that the BRIDE needed a ride to the church because she didn’t have a driver’s license? This being 1991 was well before everyone had a cell phone.
Someone remembered, probably my father, and at the church/school’s cafeteria I had a nice brunch with my bridesmaids while my groom and his side of the wedding party went golfing. When it came time to get dressed, I couldn’t find my dress. Thinking this was some prank from someone in my family (my family tree is one of the nut varieties), I ran around searching for my dress in the kitchen, pantry, and stage of the school’s gym, where I was getting dressed. Unfortunately, my Uncle Joe snapped a picture of me dressed in nothing but my body girdle.
Dress found, hair done, and I asked Aunt Jean to accentuate my eyes when she did my make-up, as the bridal magazines suggested. She reminded me that she only did hair, and wasn’t a make-up artist, but I trusted her implicitly.
Despite everyone’s best efforts, Brian and I did see each other very briefly; but I ducked, and he was escorted to some locked area of the building until it was time. I should have remembered that the superstition of not seeing each other before the ceremony harkened back to the days of arranged marriages when a bride and groom met on their wedding day. Silly.
Poppy (aka, my dad) escorted me down the aisle because I was a “daddy’s girl” and I wanted someone to catch me if I tripped. I didn’t, but I knew what would have happened if I did: my groom and my father would have led the congregation in applause. Years later when I confessed this biggest wedding day fear to my husband, he agreed that would have been his response.
My first thought upon seeing my groom was, “Oh, he shaved his beard.” His first thought, “Too much make-up,” which was correct considering I usually don’t wear any. However, his first words to me were, “You look beautiful.” I was too nervous to respond.
Thank the Gods Brian insisted on not having a full mass; thus the ceremony only was twenty minutes. The a/c was insufficient for the day, and I wore my mother’s wedding gown of lace and taffeta. At one point during the reception, I complained about how much I was sweating. One of my guests said, “Brides don’t sweat; brides glow.” I replied, “Well the ‘glow’ has been dripping down my back since midway through the ceremony.”
I had one plate of food that I did not finish, and only one piece of cake of the thirteen available to our over 400 guests. My brother Fran tried to get me to say where Brian and I were spending our wedding night, and I automatically and honestly replied that we hadn’t made any hotel reservations due to fearing shenanigans from my numerous relatives, who had a reputation for that type of behavior. Unfortunately, it took us a long effing time to find a room available, and when we did, we paid in cash from the envelopes in the card box.
In the worst hotel room we’ve ever stayed in (and mercifully the place has been refurbished since), we opened our cards and took the money to the hotel safe. Before we left the room, we cranked the a/c, opened all the curtain that was turn and the window that had no screen despite us being on the tenth floor, and left for some gyros because we were starving.
Whenever anyone tells us they are getting married, we have the same advice: elope. I add that one’s wedding day will not be wonderful because you’ll be in an effing fishbowl all day. A good marriage will make every day for the rest of your life wonderful, and that’s what Brian and I have.
Pog ma thoin!
-Lori
From Brian:
24 years ago:
I was anxiously awaiting my wedding that afternoon. Like some sort of animal I was being penned in a smaller and smaller section of the church/school where said wedding was to take place while my soon-to-be-wife was allowed free run of the place. I had to be aware of where she was going while she did not seem to have to have the slightest idea of where I was. It was like the Scarecrow scenes in Batman: Arkham Asylum. If the light of her radiance shown on me, I would die.
As fun as that sounds, it wasn’t. So I was fairly stressed by about Noon or so. When I went to trim my beard, I accidentally left it set at moustache length and carved a big old stripe right up to my chin. I wore a full beard in those days (kind of like now when I’ve gotten too lazy to shave) so it was *REALLY* noticeable. It was like the beard version of a reverse Mohawk.
Well, nothing for it but to shave the whole damned thing off. But hey, there’s an idea, let’s just keep the moustache. It totally didn’t look like a 70’s porn ‘stache. Totally.
The rest of the day is largely a blur. Discovering that no one had thought to turn the AC in the church on until about an hour before the ceremony. Standing in a two hour receiving line (400+ guests). Getting approximately 1 ham sandwich at the reception (have I ever mentioned how I generally don’t like ham). And not a single slice of cake.
By the time we left the reception my tuxedo shirt was a wet, smelly rag that really should have just been tossed into a trash barrel and burned. And we had *no* hotel room. My idea, remember I was 25… I knew *EVERYTHING*, was that if we didn’t know where we were staying, no one else could either. Thus, wedding night shenanigans. Three hours later we’re in the worst hotel room ever (in one of the fanciest hotels in town) and starving. We walked down to the Parthenon and had gyros. My lovely bride was barefoot since I had forgotten her flats and she’d been in heels all day. Still probably the best gyro I’ve ever had.
Today: Woke up at 4am to discover my bathroom ceiling leaks.
Happy Anniversary Lori.
Happy Anniversary to you, too, Brian.
-L.
delazan 