And we continue the awesome story of my friend, an admitted Bridezilla — and her rather unusual wedding day.
The crowd was already starting to dissipate in a chaotic jumble of guests hurrying to their own cars in an attempt to avoid sitting in a traffic jam heading to the beautiful Hotel MacDonald. Their banquet hall was the most booked venue in Edmonton. It was one of places I cruelly fought to secure. It was further away from the service than usually considered proper by etiquette standards, but it was worth it. The handmade personalized party favors would surely bring forgiveness from any guests disgruntled by the commute from Vegreville to Downtown Edmonton.
The carefully laid out plan was for the limo to accept myself and my rice covered groom in to the car and then drive away as if we were leaving to set the traditional scene. We were then to be driven around back of the church so I could go inside and change into another carefully chosen dress meant for the reception.
As tears filled my eyes and panic took over, I tried to save face by bidding guests a farewell full of grateful waves. My mother quickly escorted my finance and I back into the building in a very quick motion meant to save face and look natural. She agreed to go and start the commute to the reception to make sure all was carried out as planned while I stubbornly refused a ride in her car. Still imagining my hour long ride in the beautiful white limo, the call was made to the limo service with the necessary complaint.
I set myself about getting changed while my new husband made the call. With apologies and promises of a refund, he was told there were no other limos available. There had been a booking mistake. Struggling to maintain my composure and worried about ruining my makeup, I held back the tears. What came out when I redialed the limo service may have been close to rant with threats deserving of police attention. Even if a limo had become available, after that, it would still have been denied me.
I sulked as I walked outside to accept a ride from my parents. The empty parking lot loomed before me and my stomach sank. We were out in the country, there were simply trees around and no other buildings for at least a couple of miles. Sitting on the steps of the church, my first few married moments were filled with disappointment and anger. I couldn’t imagine how we were going to get to the reception. A taxi from the city would take at least an hour to get to us. My husband, which I soon found out really is my better half, got me on my feet, retrieved my wedding gown from the dressing room and instructed me to change back into it. My day was about to change in the best way, but I didn’t see it that way yet.
After much protesting, my fluffy, veil clad self, accompanied my groom down to the nearest dirt road. His logic declared that any decent human with a hint of kindness would stop to assist a bride in distress. As I imagined serial killers and other unsavory consequences to hitchhiking, a blue truck appeared slowly making its way towards us.
My husband put his thumb out in a gesture that obviously eluded him considering his well-off, private school upbringing. The truck rolled on by, obviously laughing with his copilot over the hilarious spectacle. Three more cars came around and no luck, apparently my hitchhiking skills were also lacking, as by now I had joined in. A little laugh escaped, despite my hopeless attitude, as my husband pretended to show a little leg.
I lost track of time when the blue truck rolled back by and slowed down. We came to find out later that the man laughing in the passenger seat felt a little worried about us and convinced the driver to come back and check on us. He considered our plight and agreed to take us halfway, first he had to stop at a neighboring farm to make a delivery. It was then that I noticed the delivery was making quite a bit of noise. Settled on a blanket next to the impending delivery of chickens, my adventure as a married woman began.
I’m going to make you wait for the conclusion in part three. I know its mean — but it’ll be worth the wait. Don’t chicken out on us now.
And if you missed part one — check it out here.