I got married on December 26th and the actual date was hailed as the coldest 12/26 in 75 years.
The day started with a fight between my mother and me about my choice of eye shadow. Stupid, right?
It went downhill after that.
I'd decided to walk myself down the aisle instead of choosing between my father and stepfather. Neither would capitulate to the other and they didn't want to "share" me. My decision almost left me parentless at the wedding.
The Priest had a serious and obvious case of conjunctivitis and no one wanted to receive communion from him, esp. when we all saw him rubbing his eyes throughout the ceremony.
The pinkeye must have challenged his memory because he forgot about the readings I'd chosen and the people I'd chosen to do them, and read his own choices, leaving my friends in the ecclesiastic dust.
The Parish didn't allow rice to be thrown for good luck, but did allow birdseed, so I'd made hundreds of little linen packets filled with seeds that guests could open and then toss for good luck, with the added gift that the birds would get fed. Why the Church thought there would be any birds present on my wedding day, the coldest day in 75 years, is a mystery, but... Some guests ( not my side of the wedding) thought it was hysterical to toss the whole packets at us, ending with me being bruised and battered before we got to the reception.
Not funny at all.
On to the reception.
Remember that fight about the eyeshadow? It escalated when my mother found out she was sitting on the left side of the room. She wanted to be on the right. Why? Who the heck knows. She was in the throws of menopause and the hormones were making her nuts.
My stepfather fought with the DJ because he said the music was too loud. It wasn't.
My father fought with the DJ because he didn't like the music. Too bad.
My husband of an hour fought with the photographer ( who really was a pain in the butt) because he kept interrupting us whenever we tried to visit out guests.
My grandmother fought with the wait staff. She thought the food was over cooked and under-salted. It wasn't. But she'd been nipping from everyone's champagne glasses at her table, so....
One of my step-uncles, the one that family legend had it was an enforcer for the local mob boss, had a gun tucked into his waistband and made sure the wait staff saw it and knew it was loaded. He also moved his chair to a space where he could sit with his back to a wall and case the entrance way to the ballroom.
Use your imagination on why he did that.
I'd purchased little 4 packs of Godiva chocolates for favors for everyone and had placed a box each at every place setting. My step cousins very loudly complained the candy tasted "cheap." This started an argument between my menopausal mother and her equally hormone-raging sisters-in-law and their children about manners.
It didn't end well.
By the time we got to the cake - chocolate buttercream frosted with chocolate cake and Swiss mousse for filling, tensions were so high in the ballroom, I seriously wondered if an Animal House-like food fight was due to erupt.
All in all, I couldn't wait to leave the reception and wished hubby and I had flown to Vegas for the weekend and gotten married by an Elvis-clone like I'd wanted.
30+ years later and we are still - miraculously - together.
I love fictional weddings so much better.
When I write a fictional wedding I am in control of everything that happens. There are no surprises, no mistakes, no petty and pointless bickering.
Not unless I want there to be.
If you've ever read any of my San Valentino books, you'll recognize a few of the characters from my actual relatives above. Hey, write what you know, right?
My latest book series, A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN, deals with weddings, family, forgiveness, and those relationships that make our lives the interesting ones they are.
Until next month, dear readers ~ Peg