25 Years!

Note to Self: When get married in next life, schedule haircut a few days before ceremony so hair doesn’t bump into new husband’s face in pictures.

It never occurred to me to have my hair professionally done for my wedding. I’d had a perm 6 weeks before the wedding, though. Later, friends told me they would never experiment with a perm 6 weeks before something as important as a wedding (this was 1985—perms were pretty harsh on hair back then). But it was summer, and I wanted a perm. So I got one. It doesn’t look too bad.

Has anyone had a smoothly run wedding day? Our wedding was filled with SNAFUs. As is tradition, I got very little sleep the night before. My family allowed me to sleep in and went to decorate the hall. So of course Jehovah’s Witnesses chose that Saturday to knock on my parents’ door. And I answered. In a bathrobe and a towel on my head. I thought the Witness would understand that it was my wedding day (I told them) and I needed to dry my hair. Nope. They launched right into their spiel regardless. I was polite in expressing that this really wasn’t the time! Then they left.

It was hot as Hades on the day of my wedding, so it’s a good thing I’m not one for foundation. It would have melted off my face. But at least my dress was in order. I don’t know what the deal is now, but in 1985 in Canada you didn’t buy your bridesmaids dresses. You might pay for their fabric if you were feeling particularly generous, but they either sewed their dresses themselves or hired a seamstress. We didn’t think of buying off the rack (small town, zero selection).

My mom sewed my little sister’s dress. My maid of honor hired a seamstress. My second bridesmaid was a childhood friend who’d moved to Montreal with her mom when her parents divorced. Several months before the wedding, I bought her fabric and mailed it to her with the pattern. She was an excellent seamstress. No need to be afeared!

I can’t remember when she called me, but at some point she phoned freaking out and asking if there was any more fabric available. Uh, no. I’d bought the last of the roll at the fabric store. You see, my most excellent seamstress friend had accidentally cut the pattern for a sleeve out of one of the pieces that would form her skirt (still floor-length bridesmaids dresses in 1985; the fashion went to short dresses shortly thereafter). My friend thought I would be horrified. But I wasn’t. “Just sew the sleeve back into the skirt piece,” I told her. After all, the fabric had a design imprinted in the fabric (not sure what you call that, but, you know, it’s textured somehow even though the fabric was all one color), and who’d be looking at her skirt? She wasn’t the bride!

I thought that was it for SNAFUs. I forgot who I was dealing with (me).

The wedding went off without a hitch, except my niece by blood (one of my flower girls, who was 3 or 4 at the time) weeped throughout the ceremony. She thought the music was sad. And maybe she was suffering stage fright. The ceremony was late in the afternoon. I think it was at 5 p.m. or something. The church we were married in was very popular for weddings, and it was a long weekend. But it was August 3rd, and I have a thing for eights and threes. Plus 8 + 5 (’85) = 13, and 13 is my favorite number (because I’m born on the 13th and needed to dispel the myth that 13 is somehow unlucky). I HAD to get married on 08/03/85. There was no other choice!

So off the wedding party went to the photographer’s studio. We hadn’t hired a professional to follow us throughout the day. I thought that was overkill. All I needed were a few studio photos. Candids I could get from family and friends. But the photographer wasn’t there! He’d had another wedding that day in a nearby town, and he was 30-45 minutes late for our session. Meanwhile, we had a tiny window between ceremony and reception, because the wedding had been at 5 p.m. And this was in the days of no cell phones. I can’t remember, but we might have just sat there waiting. Someone might have trucked to a pay phone and called his home to find out where he was. I can’t recall!

He arrived, and the photos went off without a hitch. Except my blood niece cried throughout her pictures. She’s super cute, though, so you can’t tell in the photos. The wedding party whisked off to the reception. And then we had to deal with…the receiving line.

Receiving lines went out of fashion with floor-length bridesmaids’ dresses a year or two after our wedding. I have no clue if the fashion has ever returned. For those who don’t know, the receiving line is when the entire wedding party lines up and the guests shake everyone’s hands and kiss the bride. Usually, you arrive at the hall and the receiving line is there waiting to, well, receive you. But all our guests were already at the hall, because we were so late.

My mother asked me if I wanted to go ahead with the receiving line, because the caterer was getting nervous about dinner. Especially because some of it was fish (a lot of my mother’s family are vegetarians). I insisted we do the receiving line. Silly me! Because the receiving line went on and on and on. At some point I was informed that dinner HAD to be served. The receiving line continued while the first guests got their dinner.

You know how at weddings you cross your fingers that your table will be one of the first to get called? But of course the head table, with the bride and groom, gets served first. I thought, at my own wedding, I would finally get served first. Nope. Several tables had their meals before my new husband and I even had a chance to sit down.

From thereon in, everything proceeded smoothly. My maid of honor’s father break-danced. We had a live band, and they were wonderful (live bands quickly went the way of receiving lines and long bridesmaids’ dresses a couple years later, but we PARTIED ON!). We danced to Downstream by SuperTramp (beautiful song). My maid of honor, known around these parts as Claudia, changed out of her bridesmaid dress into shorts and a top so she could “have fun,” as she put it. I counted myself lucky she and the best man didn’t switch clothes. Because, yes, Claudia and the best man did this at another wedding where she was maid of honor.

My new husband and I arrived at the hotel fairly late. I had elected not to visit the hotel earlier that night and change into “going-away” clothes. I thought that was overkill. But when we arrived at the hotel, the night clerk was aghast. We’d apparently already checked in. There I was, in a wedding gown with a veil and a train. My dh was in a tuxedo. “But the young couple who checked in looked so happy!” the desk clerk said. No doubt. They’d just finagled their way into our wedding suite. I guess my gown convinced the clerk, because he gave us a key. Turned out my new sister-in-law and her husband had written in lipstick all over the mirrors and they might have also done something to the bed. More power to them for getting past the clerk! We, um, went on to enjoy the night. Years later, I learned that a lot of couples don’t “enjoy” their wedding night. Apparently, they think it’s overkill. It’s good to know I have my priorities in order.

My parents had a small houseboat at the time, which they allowed my dh and me to use for our honeymoon. When we arrived at the yacht club where the houseboat was moored, it was stuffed FULL of balloons. Very cool. Except we had to pop a bunch.

The honeymoon was fantastic for 1 or 2 days. Then a huge storm chased us 30 miles back down the lake, and we had to cut the honeymoon short.

A couple months later, a teenager set fire to the pulpit in the church in which we were married. The church burned to the ground, and now a strip mall resides there.

Top that!