Weddingbee Blog

Wow. I never, ever expected such an outpouring of love and support. 100+ comments? Thank you.

I really shouldn’t be writing anymore (Mr. Shortcake is all suited up, board in hand, waiting to go down to Waikiki beach), but after so many expressions of concern, I thought it might be cruel not to fill you all in on the second part of The Shortcake Saga.

Yes, the beginning of my day sucked. SUCKED. I thought I was all ready for anything the Universe had to throw my way. Even my mother was surprised at how Zen-Bride I was being. I could deal with all the minor things: all the wardrobe mishaps, the wonky church music and timing (hello bridesmaids, didn’t expect to see you still in the aisle!), the cake colour variations, the last-minute reception improvisations. It was the big things—my “big things” (photography, flowers, etc) that got to me. You might have noticed.

So where did we leave off? Ah, yes, with me sobbing, high-school-prom-style in the girls’ bathroom. There I was, bawling my eyes out, face buried in the automatic paper towel dispenser (more absorbency! more!), wailing like a banshee, and wishing so desperately for a do-over. This wasn’t our wedding—it couldn’t be. Our wedding was supposed to be sunny and gorgeous, and everyone would be waltzing, and my flowers would be alive and fluffy, and everything would match, and we would be deliciously in love—well, we were still in love, but I had bits of paper towel stuck to my face, and boogers dribbling from my nose. I continued crying, now because I was ashamed of crying in the first place!

And then my mother came in.

And my aunt. And my cousin. And my sister. And my other aunt. And my bridesmaids. And some random ladies I have never seen before but must have been invited because they were at our wedding, right? It was getting packed in that three-stall bathroom. Somebody asked me why I was crying.

“Because I have no photos and my parents spent so much money and I’m going to have no memories and everything is going wrong and I’m so so ssssaaaaaaaaaaad…” *cue continuation of wailing*

All at once I was enfolded in so many arms, and when I was finally released, one by one, all of those lovely, wonderful, gracious ladies told one sobbing bride how their weddings weren’t so very perfect, either. Stories of drunk ministers, veils lit on fire by candles, ripped dresses, collapsing tents…

…”We went to get photos taken by a beautiful stream before the wedding. We tried to get a cute shot, balancing on some stepping stones, but I fell in! All the way up to my waist! Somehow one of my shoes came off, and started bobbing down the stream, so my husband dove into the water, and rescued it for me—both of us were SOAKING, only fifteen minutes before the ceremony!”

And the funny thing was, not a single one would have traded in their special day for a do-over—flaming tulle and furious fathers-in-laws aside. Not a single one. Gradually, as I listened to their horror stories, my tears started drying, and my sobs subsided into hiccups, and then into laughter. They dried my face, tidied my veil, straightened my dress, and shooed me outside the bathroom, into the open arms of one very anxious Mr. Shortcake. I started crying again, but this time out of relief and happiness. He stroked my hair and dried my tears, and I managed to sob out a dreadfully snotty rendition of “I - I - I love you, I’m sssorry!”

It was going to be okay. And it was okay. It was actually more than okay—it was the most perfect, imperfect day of my life, in fact. I didn’t leave the dance floor all night (”How on earth are you still standing??” -”It’s my wedding! I won’t stop dancing as long as there is music!”), and made it my mission to dance with every. single. guest. And the DJ too! The dance floor was packed all evening, and all of our guests gushed that it was the “happiest, best wedding [they] had ever attended,” and all of our friends, one after another, told us that our wedding was like the wedding montage at the beginning of the Wedding Crashers movie. And it was.

{TRANSLATION FOR THOSE NOT ABLE TO UNDERSTAND ME THROUGH MY TEARS}

“As many of you know, it’s not really tradition for the bride to give a speech—and I wasn’t planning to give a speech. As many, or some of you may know, for the last ten months I have spent my time not only working in Winnipeg (and missing B.C.), but also working as a writer for a wedding planning company based in New York City. And through that I have learned what linens go with what, and what flowers to pair with what china, etc, etc. And because of that, you have this. But when I got here today, I realized, “Wow! It looks nice!” but something was missing. And that something that was missing was revealed to me in the bathroom, where I was bawling my eyes out, where I realized that it’s NOT about the china, and it’s not about the linens, it’s about my love for Ryan. We’ve been together for four years—four wonderful years—and I wouldn’t trade any of those years. And even if the flowers are kind of wilty, and my curls are kind of crooked, it’s all about love, wonderful love, and I love you. And I’m kind of embarrassed to be up here, and I’m kind of embarrassed to be up here, crying, in front of one hundred and something people. But at the same time, Ryan, I love you, and it’s okay. And it’s okay that everything was NOT perfect today, because the only thing I needed to make it perfect was you. And me. And I did mean it when I said that I do, and I will, and I can, and I will forever… and… um, now I am droning on and on, so I’ll stop.”