First, a little background.
Mr. Dynamite & I didn't want a big wedding with bridesmaids, groomsmen, rehearsal dinner, vows, sand ceremonies, unity candles, glass-stomping, broom-jumping or any of that. We wanted a simple, quick & easy civil ceremony with a judge, then we would concentrate the bulk of our celebration efforts towards our reception - which we wanted to just be a big party with me wearing a big, fabulous wedding dress.
Still, even though we quickly planned for our marriage to take place at a local judge's office on a random afternoon about two months ahead of our big shindig, we were getting MARRIED and that merits celebration, right? So of course, I needed a dress and a plan. I made dinner reservations for a small group of family and friends. I ordered a lovely dress online about a month before the ceremony and it fit perfectly.
That brings me to wedding rule #1: Make sure everything fits, with time for one last alteration.
As does every bride, I have been actively losing weight. On the Tuesday evening prior to my Friday afternoon ceremony, I thought, "Hey, I should put this dress on." I did, and it didn't fit. In fact, it looked awful. I thought, do I call in sick to work and shop for a new dress tomorrow? Do I take the risk with another online purchase and hope they can ship overnight? Do I scrap the whole beautiful bride concept and get married in something ridiculously ironic? A gorilla suit perhaps, or maybe something fashioned from duct tape?
Thankfully Mr. Dynamite kept a level head, and suggested I contact the alterations shop that was working on my formal wedding gown for the big shindig. I left a frantic voice mail, which was quickly returned with a call to make an appointment Thursday morning. I picked it up Friday morning, and it fit beautifully.
Meanwhile back at our home, this happened.
Wedding rule #2: Always stash extra cash for the unexpected.
We had done some remodeling work in the bathroom fairly recently, and some mortar and grout likely got washed down the drain, cementing with what I imagined to be a collection of hair the size of a dachshund. Just the night before I noticed the tub was draining slowly, but figured a few toxic glugs of drain cleaner would fix it right up. Then came the morning of the wedding ceremony, and the tub - our ONLY tub - sat stagnant with about 3 inches of brackish water diluted with enough Draino to take out a herd of red-ribboned Heathers.
Mr. Dynamite called Roto-Rooter and pleaded his case, stressing that we were to be married within a few hours and neither of us could take a shower. That must have touched the hopeless romantic within the woman on the phone, and she dispatched a repairman to our house immediately. Lyle was just about to take his lunch break but I'll send him right over, she said. Awesome. About 40 minutes and $250 later, we were back in business.
Showered and dressed, the mid-afternoon ceremony was lovely and perfect and went off without a hitch. Now fast forward to about 10:30 that night after much celebration with family and friends.
Wedding rule #3: Don't get hammered.
You would think this rule is fairly obvious. I typically don't get hammered very often, and if I do it's usually a very mild hammered - a pronounced state of tipsiness, if you will. Totally shit-faced hammered just doesn't suit me. Mr. Dynamite is the same way. But you can't underestimate the fact that if you are out where alcohol is served and you just got married, folks are going to buy you drinks. Lots of them. In the excitement and expectation and celebration of the whole day, it's surprisingly easy to become overwhelmed a few drinks too late.
You see, what happens on the rare occasions when Mr. Dynamite & I get too drunk together is we fight over really stupid, insignificant things. The last time it happened I'm pretty sure we argued fiercely over which was cooler: samurais or ninjas.
Our wedding night? I believe it involved a screaming fight over who does more laundry (he does), the throwing of wedding bands, us parting ways for a very blurry stretch of time, and I'm pretty sure I got fresh with an Elvis impersonator on Beale Street. There was much more to the evening, as evidenced by the botanic remains of my bridal bouquet throughout our honeymoon suite, but none of it involved what one would expect on the night of our wedding. We woke up bleary-eyed the next painfully bright morning and asked each other with thick, furry tongues, "What the hell happened?" After nursing our hangover for a good 24 hours (it was, by far, the worst hangover I've ever had), little bits and pieces of the night began to surface in embarrassing clarity, and with the help of a few witness accounts we realized what monumental asses we had made of ourselves. Then we laughed. A lot.
So was the wedding ruined? Of course not. The wonderful moments filled with love and laughter far outweighed our collection of little disasters. Sure, I would've rather spent the night romancing with my new husband, but now we have a ridiculous story to tell, several lessons learned, and the rest of our lives to canoodle sweetly into the morning.
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