Let's continue with my last bridesmaid adventure.
We left off with me finally arriving in Cleveland, the night before the wedding. The next day, we all head to the bridal suite to get our hair done.
I sit down when it's my turn, and field the typical question of whether or not I'm actually a spy (some of my friends that don't live in DC and have never understood my jobs are convinced that that's what I actually do. And there's really no convincing people otherwise, because who's gunna come right out and admit that they are a spy? So protesting just makes me look guiltier, and the cycle continues.)
At some point, the person doing my hair looks at the other lady doing hair, and they hand off this curling...contraption.
I can't see what's going on but I hear "it just sucks the hair in?" and I hear "I've never used this before."
I'm sorry, what was that? I'm picturing the Flowbee scene from Wayne's world
|"IT'S SUCKING MY WILL TO LIIIIIVE!"|
But I try not to panic, and we get through it. My hair dresser does exactly what I told her I wanted, and my friend Beverly's hair dresser does exactly what she told her she wanted.
Then we both immediately second guess ourselves. The room started to fill with questions like:
"Do I look like a 14-year old going to prom?"
"Do I look like Princess Leia?"
The day is already starting well.
We finish dressing and head to the church for photos. (Outside. In the snow. In our strapless dresses. Beauty is pain - am I right, ladies?)
And if any of you men out there wonder what we look like backstage, getting ready to come out -- it's this:
Tired, freezing, wearing uggs and puffer jackets over our gowns. Glamour=We Haz It
After the photos, we start to line up upstairs. And that's when it starts to sink in that -- oh yeah! I don't actually have any idea what I'm supposed to do in this wedding, since I was driving a Mustang through a post-snow-acopalyptic world during rehearsal yesterday!
I ask which groomsman I'm supposed to walk out with, hoping I can just follow his lead. But - as you might've expected - he also missed rehearsal! Of course he did! Because that would've been too convenient to have at least one of us know how we are supposed to conduct ourselves in front of a crowd of people on the most important day of our friends' lives.
We try to get instructions for how to walk out and where to stand. We sort of understand and get it mostly right. (We, of course, were the first to go up to our side of the alter, so we had no one to follow. The next couple that joined us quietly shifted us over to where we were actually supposed to be. #Awkward)
But then I settled in and focused on the ceremony and also on not locking my knees and fainting (that's the first thing you are usually taught as a bridesmaid. Very important.)
And I'm dreamily watching the bride and groom and suddenly realize in horror that while I tried to get instructions for how to get up to the alter -
I neglected to ask how on earth we get back down.
I immediately glance over at Beverly and she sees my panicked deer-in-headlights face and reads my mind and mouths "just follow us."
Thank goodness she did, because the way we ended up leaving was so not the way I would've guessed. But we made it! And the ceremony ends and we all head to the reception.
And receptions are my group of friends' forte. We are naturally ridiculous. We love to dance, sing, and make idiots of ourselves (and each other, if the opportunity arises). One member of the group always does a stellar Michael Jackson impression, we always end up square-dancing and screaming out the lyrics to Rocky Top and Dixieland Delight, and we typically all end up dancing around the bride and groom in a giant love-circle in the end.
The husbands that have now joined our group are often left to sit back and watch in amusement.
Although, I'll point out here that those husbands also ended up looking like this by the end of this reception:
So they can't say too much.
The night ended with all of us circling around the bride and groom before sending them off to wedded bliss. On my drive home the next day, I could still hear the lyrics that always make me smile:
.....Fits my life.
Oh so right.
My dixieland delight.....