Act II, Scene I. The Morning.
INT. A swanky hotel room. E&E awakens to a ringing telephone, an early wake up call. Despite her exhaustion, she pops out of bed.Actually.
Let's back up.
Before we explore the morning of The Wedding Day, can I take a moment and gloat about two decisions I made the night before my wedding? Decisions I actually made without the advice of Martha Stewart and/or that editor chick from the Knot with the sassy blond haircut, my bridesmaids, my Mom, and/or the consultation of any blogs? (Ultimately shocking me with the conclusion that perhaps people were once able say their vows and get married without media assistance.)
Hearing no objection, I shall proceed.
Awesome Decision Number #1 - The night before The Wedding, I took a high-powered blissfully sleep-inducing Ambien pill. That white little pill (and the four glasses of wine I had before it) put me to sleep quicker than C-Span's Book Notes (sorry, I love to read, but dammit if that show isn't boring as hell).
Drugs are awesome, kids. Little miracles ground up into potent powder and molded into gifts from God, bestowed solely upon those who can afford them. Or are smart enough to live in upstate New York and travel to Canada for their purchase.
Awesome Decision Number #2 - I spit on tradition and forced my fiance to sleep over in my hotel the night before. We snuggled in our sin (and 400 thread count sheets). It was warm and cozy; and for me, it made me calmer and saner.
Granted, Mr F actually wanted (and intended) to bow to tradition and stay separately (he in our apartment and I in the giant hotel suite).
So I got him drunk so that he was unable drive home and had to stay with me. Less romantic, but same outcome.
Anyway, back to the Wedding Morning.
For some reason, when I pictured my Wedding Morning I thought I would be transformed into Juliet (with a sprinkle of Cinderella). I don't know where I conjured this image from. (Well, actually I guess I sort of do....I mean, come on, it's a day where I am flanked by ladies in waiting and corseted into a large ballgown - my only experience with these events hereto are Disney movies and William Shakespeare.) But I envisioned myself awaking in a lovely silk chiffon full length nightgown and the birds and mice (cute speaking germ-free mice, not dirty city mice) would bring me over the clothes I would be wearing for the day. I would sweep down the stairs (or uhm, hotel elevator) and be a princess.
Much to my surprise, when I looked down I was still wearing my pink Hello Kitty fleece pajama pants. When I looked in the mirror I also saw I had a pimple. And Mr F was groaning that it was too early as I tried to roll him out of the bed before my Mom arrived.
I don't recall Cinderella wearing Japanese anime. And there were no mentions of blemishes in Juliet's soliloquies. Death, yes; skin irritation, no.
So maybe I wasn't an actual heroine per se.
But whatever. I was too tired to really belabor the fantasy.
Luckily my mom and my darling bridesmaids knew that I may not be a character from the page of literature, but I am indeed a woman of chemical substance, and so no less than three people brought me coffee.
Now, that's what I call Princess for a Day.
And a good thing too. Because as my harem of bridesmaids accompanied me down to the bridal dressing room, we realized that we were locked out.
At 8 a.m.
And we couldn't find anyone to let us in.
So I did what any rational Bride would do. I called my wedding coordinator, Big Hugs.
Who answered the phone and promptly yawned.
"Oh, did I wake you? I'm sooooo sorry!" (I was in no way sorry.)
In her sleepiest voice: "That's okayyyyy." (Clearly, she was not okay with my wake up call.)
"We are locked out of the Bridal Room." (And if you don't solve this soon, I'm going to freak the frack out.)
"I'll take care of it." (Spoiled princess.)
"Thanks! I'll see you later!" (You better not mess up my wedding, dum dum.)
"Can't wait!" (I don't get paid enough for this crap.)
Within five minutes someone appeared and let us in. (Well, not before accidentally bumping into me and the wedding dress and having it crash to the floor and get smooshed by a door. Well, it was ruched. No one would notice, right?)
And then, the next 3 hours were generally a blur. I made myself relax and sat around and chatted with my bridesmaids until they got their hair done. I had a great time.
We had sandwiches, we read trashy magazines (do you think Tony Romo really cheated on Jessica Simpson...in her own bed?), and I started to get my hair done. Fun all around.
I looked at the clock and realized Mr F was supposed to be at the hotel in the "Groom's Dressing Room." So I decided to just "check up on him."
I got on the cellphone while the makeup artist began to work on my makeup.
And asked Mr F if he was downstairs.
He was not.
He was at home.
But according to him, he was "leaving momentarily."
Mr F's leaving momentarily is about as likely as a lunar eclipse, peace on the Gaza Strip, JLo having a lasting marriage.
So I hung up while my makeup was being done. I remained calm. Ok, calm-ish.
And then called him back twenty minutes later.
He had not left.
We were supposed to start pictures in 20 minutes.
I had a mini freakout.
Everyone thought I was worried that he wouldn't show.
That was not my fear at all. I knew he would show. I was worried about the timeline.
To which everyone said (in very calming tones) that "I was the bride!" and "The day can't start without me!" But if I can be quite frank, I knew both of those things.
The issue was really this: I knew Mr F was going to marry me. Not concerned at all. But if we started pictures late, then we would have less family portraits (which did end up happening by the way) and we couldn't really be too late making up time taking pictures because I hated the idea of our friends and family waiting for the ceremony to start for more than a half an hour and dammit, I wasn't cutting down that cocktail hour by a single minute. When you're paying like a zillion dollars for that crap, you want people to enjoy every minute you've paid for.
I know, I'm a little crazy, but that's where my neurosis came from. Not that he wouldn't show.
Oh, I knew he would show. That crazy guy loves me.
So what did I do? I delegated.
I got my Mom to call Mr F and tell him to get there pronto, my sister in law to call my brother (a groomsman) to then call Mr F to tell him to ease on down the roo-oad, and Mr F's sister (my bridesmaid) to leave him a stern message telling him to get his ass to the hotel on the double.
And so, only an hour after he was supposed to be there, I learned that Mr F (at that point Mr F-U), had indeed entered the building.
With that burden off my shoulders, I looked in the mirror at my hair and makeup and couldn't believe that they had actually come out so perfect. Un-frackin-believable.
At which point I was told that Mr F asked that I call him immediately.
Stop the presses.
If there is one thing I learned from "Sex and the City: The Movie", it's that if the groom calls you on your cellphone on your wedding day, you'd best be answering that call.
Which is exactly what I said. And so everyone looked at me with inquiring eyes as I called Mr F back.
I listened for his voice, curious to hear the emergency.
Mr F paused for a moment and then said, "Do we have time to practice our first dance?"
Sweet matrimonial dowry, of course we had no time! We were already running late and there was a Schedule to adhere to, for goodness sake.
So what did I say to my husband-to-be?
"Of course, sweetheart. I want you to be happy and comfortable when we do the dance."
And so I stepped into my totally gorgeous silk satin mermaid-bodice gown (which I loved!!! loved! loved! - I was a movie star!) and then got back out of it as I realized I needed to pee.
I ran to use the ladies room. I returned breathless and bladder-empty, and stepped back into my gorgeous silk satin gown and my Mom and bridesmaids buttoned and zipped me up.
I looked in the mirror and loved my whole look. I wouldn't have changed a thing.
And then I said screw it to the Schedule, and went and practiced my first dance with Mr F while the hotel staff set the tables in the reception room around us, so that he too would be happy on our wedding day.
As Mr F twirled me to the clang of charger plates, and dipped me to the clink of wine glasses, I had no doubt it was going to be a wonderful day.
Stay tuned. Act II, Scene II awaits.