Four years ago today, Mike and I got married. In all honesty, our wedding day was one of the best in my life. It even beat out Mazzy's birth because of the whole contractions/placenta thing.
But even the best days have minor mishaps. Especially weddings.
My wedding mishaps included the longest Horah of all time (despite numerous not so subtle signals/threats from myself to the lead singer), a relative I'd never met calling me moments before I walked down the aisle to arrange transportation so she could leave right after the ceremony, a broken video camera that made our wedding footage seizure-inducing, and a BATSHIT CRAZY wedding coordinator that was in danger of being murdered by Mike at all times.
But perhaps the most memorable mishap was the moment my mom almost cut my lady parts with a huge-ass pair of scissors.
My dress had about 5000 buttons up the back which had to be fastened with this little hook thing. Then a black sash was tied around the waist. It took five people nearly a full hour to tie and retie that sash before it was done correctly.
Finally, after everything was perfect (I didn't starve myself for two months for nothing, you know), we all got in line to walk down the aisle. After each of the bridesmaids exited and I was left only with my mom and my sister, I decided I had to go to the bathroom.
There was one problem with this.
Underneath my dress, I was wearing perhaps the longest pair of Spanx you have ever seen in your life. They started just above the knee, went up past my stomach and ended just shy of my face. Without the dress, I looked like a genital-less Barbie doll. (SEXY!)
Panic hit as soon as I realized someone would have to untie the sash and undo all the buttons so that I could pull down my underwear.
Then my mother had a BRILLIANT idea.
She yelled out to the batshit crazy wedding coordinator for a pair of scissors. The wedding was on a working ranch, so Batshit handed my mother something that looked like a pair of gardening shears. (Please don't read anything into that.)
Then the three of us walked over to a tiny half bathroom (a room only a few square inches larger than the toilet) and squeezed ourselves in. Once properly balanced, my sister pulled my dress up over my head and I blindly felt around my crotch for a good spot to cut the Spanx as my mom stood there brandishing the gardening shears.
It was TERRIFYING, to say the least.
But just as my mom announced she was "going for it"— I realized Spanx is a way more sophisticated piece of equipment than I gave credit.
Spanx has a BUILT-IN CROTCH HOLE in case of this exact scenario! (Or other scenarios, I'm sure.)
"ABORT! ABORT!" I screamed as my mom breathed a sigh of relief and put down the lady bit slicers.
So. The next time you are at a wedding where you find yourself waiting an inordinately long time for the bride, know that this is what's happening. She's got two people lifting her dress up over head as she tries her best not to piss on herself on her wedding day.
Or lose her labia.
This is really a day-after-the-wedding story. Names are omitted, to protect the guilty.
The groom got quite drunk on his wedding day, with the, um, help of several of his buddies, who made sure he had a little sip of this or that to toast at each of the tables when he made the rounds to talk to the guests. Somewhere there's a photo of him puking out the window of the limo, lest he manage not to remember his carryings-on at such an otherwise tasteful and auspicious occasion.
I should mention at this point that the groom is a pilot, and not only has no trouble with flying in aircraft, but knows how to fly them.
Their honeymoon was to Hawaii, and the flight left early the next day. He was still hung over, and, as it turned out, still queasy.
As the bride watched him hand a barf bag to a worried flight attendant before the plane even left the gate, she explained, "He'll be ok. He just doesn't like to fly."
And then she delighted in watching him hold his tongue because he knew he was already in enough trouble with her for getting so drunk the night before.