Wedding Story
Let me take you back a little to May of 2002. Jeff and I had ordered up a cloudless, sunny 75Ã?º f day, and Mother Nature delivered. The church looked gorgeous, as recent showers had washed everything clean and made the grass and gardens particularly brilliant. I had my sister and my best girlfriends by my side, and I have the best girlfriends. Everything was looking fantastic. The ceremony went off without a hitch and I didn’t fall off my shoes even once!
Things were optimistic for the reception as well. We had managed to plan a party that was loose and free enough to suit our temperaments, but kept everything just far enough within the lines of wedding etiquette to make our mothers happy. That was a process involving calculus, physics, and some Wiccan incantations.
My wedding dress was a miracle. I found a simple gown with few beads and no baubles, which had a pair of sheer, bell shaped sleeves. The sleeves were the selling point. I wanted to feel like myself, as much as a girl who lives in jeans and boots can in a puffy white dress, but I needed to find something to cover the fairly prominent tattoos I have on each upper arm. Remember, there were mothersâÂ?¦ With a little application of makeup, the sleeves covered the tattoos thoroughly, but they were nice and light and didn’t make me feel as if I were strapped into a silk shantung straight jacket.
We traveled to the party via white, soft top, 1940 Cadillac (nice ride), and stepped out into a world that was “ALL ABOUT MARGARET!” Everywhere I went, people applauded. Every time I turned around, someone handed me a drink. Folks were nice to Jeff as well, but he wasn’t strapped into a satin Iron Maiden boustier and ten yards of tulle. I was the BRIDE, baby.
And then it happened. My newly betrothed hubby turned to me and said, “Do you have the CD?”
The world came to a screeching halt. Listen and cringe as the needle scratches across the phonograph.
We had chosen as our “first dance” song “Grow Old Along With Me” by John Lennon. It was recorded just before Lennon’s death and only a rough version exists. Our DJ wasn’t sure whether he would be able to find it, so we agreed to bring our copy as a failsafe. And bring it we did. At the moment in question, that CD was having a grand old time cruising around in the back of the departed 1940 Caddy. Potential MWF (major wedding faux pas) loomed ahead.
So I did what I do when I’ve made a dumb mistake and need someone else to fix it. I went immediately into dither-mode. I grabbed Jeff by the hand and started plowing through the handshakes and puckered lips. MustâÂ?¦ getâÂ?¦ toâÂ?¦ DJ.
CRACK! There was a tug on my arm and I was pulled sharply back wards. The contents of two, full glasses flew up into the air, tipped their hats to gravity, and fell back down on top of your beleaguered bride and groom, drenching them in beer and (thankfully) white wine.
So, here’s what you should know about said bride and groom. The groom is legally blind, entirely blind in the particular lighting of a restaurant in the late afternoon sun, and the bride is an absolute spaz when she kicks it up to dither mode. Despite my over ten years experience working with the visually impaired and formal sighted guide training, I had grabbed my nice new husband and dragged him full speed toward the DJ and pulled him right into the door jam of an open set of French doors. We just stopped and stared at each other, stunned stupid for the moment. The event planner came rushing over to us and hustled us into her office where she called for towels and bridesmaids. Armed with reinforcements, we got to work blotting and shaking out our fancy dripping duds.
Jeff was wringing out his tie when he paused for a moment. “Hey, am I bleeding?” he inquired.
I looked up at him to discover a nice steady stream of blood traveling southward from the top of his forehead to the left side of his chin.
“Oh my God! I broke my new husband!” I wailed.
So, just as you’re cringing and feeling really, really bad for Jeff and the situation he has just legally bound himself into, let me tell you how this catastrophe worked out. The wine had soaked the dress, but as it was white, it did not show up in any of the pictures. The makeup covering the tattoos on my arms was all washed away, my hair was a mess, and Jeff’s suit required some serious Guinness extraction. It was at that point that we decided that we had played our Miss Manners bride and groom roles admirably, and certainly for long enough. Off came the three-inch heels (curiously, I still hadn’t fallen off them). Loosened was the tie. Bare footed, disheveled, tattoos bared, and new head wound cleaned up nicely, Jeff and I commenced to have an absolute blast. We no longer cared whether our seams were straight or my train got stepped on.
And the DJ had the song.
Our relaxed state became contagious, and our wedding reception became a good old party. At the end of the night, almost the entire guest list remained at the restaurant, dancing and laughing. The event planner was so frustrated by her attempts to end the reception over an hour after it was scheduled to end that she found herself compelled to come to me for assistance. I am proud to say that I am the only bride I know who has ever had to gather up her skirts around her and bounce her own wedding!
Jeff and I have just celebrated out fourth anniversary. For those of you concerned about the safety of a man with low vision living with a reckless, dithering madwoman, I assure you, I have inflicted no more head wounds. He’s quite proud of his wedding scar, and is thrilled to have a “look what my wife did to me” story, which he never tires of telling at parties.
And my response is always the same. “I was just making sure you’d never forget our anniversary.” He never has.
