A Wedding Horror Story

As little girls, most of us dream about our wedding day. I can remember daydreaming as I watched the royal wedding. I wanted the fairy tale gown, the tiara, and of course the prince to top it all off. Much to my dismay, my mother explained that I could not marry Prince Charles, and why. A hard lesson for a little princess to be to learn, but that is far from the end of this story.

A little jaded by my first marriage, one I chalked up to being too young, I was content to flirt, date, and occasionally practice the fine art of cohabitation, then it happened. I fell. It seemed like life could not get any better, perfect job,amazing apartment, moonlit proposal on the balcony, and the promise of a life filled with love.

The very next morning, I sobered up and realized that I had to plan a wedding. Undaunted, I took my coffee into the home office and began researching ideas, while calling and informing everyone in the free world of our upcoming nuptials. I looked at more wedding web pages than you can shake a stick at, but finally decided that a wedding chapel in Gatlinburg would be the most stress free road to take. Wow, was I wrong.
The date and location were now set in stone, it was time to shop for a gown fit for a queen. With no fairy godmother, close female friends, or family in the state, I decided to throw superstition out the window and drag my fiancee with me. Once in the bridal salon, I learned more than I ever wanted to know about sizing, fabric, and undergarments. I tried on every type of gown imaginable, so many that after 6 hours they all looked alike, and I finally begged my intended to just pick one. Then came time to schedule alterations and fittings, with nine months to go before the wedding, I was assured that my dress would be ready at least a week before my big day.

The next few months passed with only minor details to be taken care of. I thought I was onto something when I decided to print the invitations myself, but then I could not find a cake that I liked, a florist that would promise that the flowers would make the trip, or a veil that would complement my gown. Experienced at all things crafty, I felt sure that I could take on these trivial projects.

With one month to go, I had the chapel secured, travel plans, invitations sent, the wedding party organized, veil and garter made, and was on my way to my final gown fitting. Back at the bridal shop, but this time with corset, stockings, veil and shoes, tragedy struck. I was unaware that I had lost 20 pounds, the dress that was supposed to fit like a glove appeared to be more of a white lace potato sack. As I burst into tears, the ever helpful seamstress promised to work night and day to have the gown ready with 5 days to spare.
Seven days before, it was time to begin work on the cake. The three tiers came out of the oven perfectly, it was time to decorate the confection. I was in the process of making hundreds of miniature roses when my fiancee came in from work. Intrigued, he begged me to let him help. Thankful for the help, I showed him how to make the leaves. I was confident that he could handle this task, and I returned to the roses. An hour later I looked over at the man I was about to spend the rest of my life with, and wanted to kill him. Somehow the leaves had turned into little green army men and were staging a battle on the second tier of my cake. After banishing him to the couch, I took a deep breath and finished the cake myself. With all 3 layers in the freezer, I climbed into bed somewhere near four a.m., the phone rang at 5. The best man was calling to beg us to be at his wedding in two days. He claimed to have met the perfect woman the day before, and decided to dispense with all traditions. I saw this move as ridiculous, but being this close to my own ceremony, had no way to get out of it.

Two days later, we were off to Alabama. I was a little perturbed at having to miss my final fitting, but the people at the Salon were so nice and reassuring, that I pushed all that aside to enjoy the wedding of a friend. When we arrived, the bride to be was panicked, the groom was drunk, and it appeared that my fiancee and I were a little overdressed for the occasion. During the ceremony, there were two dogs running around barking, children crying, and John Boy and Billy on the radio somewhere in the house. Afterwords, the bridesmaid set the table on fire, and everyone rushed to claim the somethings borrowed from the bride.
The day before the trip to Gatlinburg, I was feeling a little overwhelmed. Packing, confirming the chapel, and trying to think of every last minute detail had me ready to pull my own hair out. I picked up my gown and had an emergency nail repair session before sitting down to engineer the bouquet. Bleeding from the thorns in my fifty rose arrangement, I fell into bed with my fiancee, who was sleeping like a baby.

Thankfully, the trip to the Smokey Mountains was uneventful. When we arrived in Gatlinburg, it took only minutes to locate the real estate office and obtain the key and directions to our chalet. The road where we were supposed to turn off looked innocuous enough, for the first mile. We turned a corner and were faced with the biggest hill I have ever seen. It went straight up, I swear. Being a man, my fiancee had to try. In a Honda Civic. With my cake in the back. Needless to say, we did not make it, and had to turn around. We went straight back to the real estate office, which of course was closed for the day.

By this time, I was exhausted. My fiancee and I elected to find a room for the night, and remedy the chalet situation in the morning, before the wedding.

The hotel we found was quaint, but clean. To tell the truth I did not look around much as we carried in my gown and ruined cake. I was so near tears, that I just wanted to sleep. Before I passed out, I said a silent prayer that everything would go smoothly the next day.

The morning of my wedding, I awoke feeling refreshed and hopeful. Letting my fiancee sleep, I threw on sweats and went in search of espresso. On my way back into the hotel, I noticed an odd sign. It said that there were no visitors allowed in the room. My fiancee had awakened to find me missing and was getting off of the elevator with a very concerned expression. I approached the grandmotherly looking woman behind the desk to ask if it would be okay for my sister to come to my room to help with my hair for the wedding. What happened next still shocks me to this day. I swear that woman went from little old lady, to wicked witch in less than two seconds. She screeched that if she would have known that we were not married she would have never given us a room. As she stood there shaking and spewing quotes from the bible, something inside my head snapped. I informed her that nothing had happened in the room, not that it was her business, that it was not her place to judge, and in general ripped her a new one. The look of concern on the face of my fiancee had gone from concern to shock. He stood there in silence as I verbally shredded the old woman's opinions and beliefs. Finally, everything that I had to say was out of the way, and she turned to the register and refunded our money.

After packing for the second time in as many days, we returned once again to the real estate office and were given a key and directions to a more accessible chalet. Once inside, I drew my bath and tried to relax. I was getting married in a matter of hours, and all I could think about was making my eye stop twitching.

My sister called to confirm that she had made it with my brother, nephew, and brother in law in tow. The plan was for everyone to meet for lunch, before the wedding. Assured that finally everything was moving along smoothly, I applied my cosmetics, and arranged my hair with perfection in mind. Happy with the result, my fiancee and I loaded everything in the car. On the way to the restaurant, the best man called, he was asking our whereabouts. I have never claimed the man was a genius, but at this point I decided that he was completely against the wedding. He and his new bride were waiting outside our apartment, ten hours away, it seems that they were under the impression that we were dressing there and then driving to the chapel. So, fine, no best man. A little glitch, that is all.

A glass of wine over lunch served to calm my nerves. It was probably a good thing that I was not able to eat much, given the disaster that was to ensue. After the meal, we made plans to meet my sister and her crew at the chapel.

Finally arriving on site, I was led to the dressing room. I checked my hair and makeup. Satisfied, I had just began to undress when the phone rang. I felt like I had swallowed a whole quarry of stones. It was my sister telling me that they could not find the chapel, so they had decided to just return home. To West Virginia. It was then that I started to cry, I sat in the middle of the floor and let it go. No best man, no bridesmaid, and no ringbearer. There would be no one there except for my fiancee and myself. If that was not enough, my cell rang again. This time it was my mother and favorite aunt letting me know that they were betting on whether I would go through with it, or not. I was thinking not. At this point I was visually examining windows and doors, looking for an escape route.

Panic had set in. There was a knock on the door. At first I hoped that the phone call had been my sisters idea of a joke. When I opened the door, it was the minister and the photographer. He inquired as to why I was not dressed, and the whole story poured forth. When I was finished he asked me if I was sure that I wanted to do this. I answered by shaking my head no, while saying yes. The photographer helped me to dry my eyes and offered to help me dress.

Once I had my gown on, I realized that it had not been altered the final time. There were pins sticking everywhere, and it still hung from my body like a sheet. There was nothing I could do. I looked like a tear stained orphan on the biggest day of my life. On top of everything, it had started to rain, not a little sprinkle, but an all out downpour. Not caring that the country was experiencing a drought, I realized that instead of saying our vows outside in the gazebo, we would have to settle for the chapel. Still, not ready to give up, (after all, who was going to witness this disaster?) I requested that the photographer ask my fiancee to escort me down the aisle.

The ceremony went by in a blur. The chapel was kind enough to video tape the event free of charge. Once we were pronounced man and wife, my fiancee and I walked back down the aisle and out of the chapel. The last thing you can see on the tape is me, none too gracefully passing out and landing in a chair by the door.
They always say hindsight is 20/20. I honestly believe that I should have taken all the mishaps as signs. That marriage ended in divorce, less than a year after our wedding. My problem is now that I am older, wiser, and more experienced than I ever wanted to be, I am writing this with yet another engagement ring on my finger. Can anyone say Justice of the Peace?