The reason I came to Europe in the first place was to act as "chief bridesmaid" in my best friend's wedding. Missing that flight guaranteed missing the rehearsal as well, but by 11pm 4 August, I and my bag (dress included!) had arrived safely in Dublin.
In the midst of helping the bride run last minute errands, I realized that I had never actually tried my dress on, and that, given I had been fitted for it a year ago, this might make things even more hectic and interesting.
As I suspected, the dress was falling off of me. I am less than adequately endowed to hold up a strapless dress as it is, nevermind one that's designed for an "average" girl of "average" size. Why hadn't I thought of this earlier, you wonder? Certainly I wouldn't think to get it tailored prior to a month before the event (I generally wait until the very last minute to get things done--I find that giving myself too little time to do things is incredibly motivating). Within that last month, I was too busy packing up my life and trying to fit in as much surf time as possible...naturally.
Anyway, I managed to take the dress in a bit myself--the night before the wedding, mind you. Considering I know little more than what every woman innately knows about sewing, it turned out rather well. Now I only had to worry about keeping up a dress that did fit me decently. Throughout the ceremony and the first half of the reception, I seized opportune moments to adjust things when the videographer and camera man weren't looking. I'm sure I ruined more than one photo....
The ceremony was beautiful, and the bride was absolutely breathtaking. I was flying by the seat of my pants as far as my "chief" duties, but there were no real catastrophes. The priest was very witty and had some encouraging things to say about falling in love (apparently, priest's can, too!) vs. committing to love someone for the rest of your life--an important distinction that seems lost to most young couples today.
After the ceremony, we took I don't know how many pictures--at the church, coming to the reception, at various places in the hotel where the reception was, and on it went.... The photographer ran the show. He would interrupt somewhat important moments (ie, turning and walking from the church post wedding kiss) to choreograph them for a photo. I found it rather awkward.
When that was finally over, it was time for dinner and speeches. The father of the bride gave a beautiful toast to his daughter, and managed to keep himself together better than I imagine my own father would (no offense, dad, but let's face it...;)). The groom's speech was, by far, the most entertaining, with a successful ruse that got everyone looking under their seats for a mysterious golden ticket, and a closing remark about his bride, who he described as his best friend who lets him touch her boobs....
I managed to get through my speech without tears, and with even a few laughs from a room full of Irish. The much-anticipated best man was both sweet and funny, and thanked everyone the bride and groom forgot to mention (phew! I guess that's why he's the best man!)
Finally, we were all able to relax and enjoy the evening. I took a power nap while the DJ set up, and came strolling in just barely in time for the first dance. The best man and I had a few laughs as we joined in and fell over ourselves. I, of course, was pulling my dress up the whole time. Once I thought it was safe to ditch that darn thing, I ran upstairs and changed into my jeans and a tank top (with the bride's permission, of course!).
Normally, I don't dance--I'm not very good at it. However, as one of the few sober people in the room, and in celebration of my best friend's marriage, I shook it all night long! Apparently, my slick moves struck one lad's fancy (let's call him Don Juannabe, though anyone who was there knows exactly who I'm talking about, and I'm sure he'll love that he made the story). Anyway, he asked me to join him in the middle of the dance circle, and kindly offered to let me straddle him, a move he had pulled on a friend of mine at a club two nights prior. Misunderstanding his words, she ended up enduring 60 seconds of inescapable molestation in the middle of a crowded room. I made Don Juannabe aware that I knew his game, and respectfully declined his very generous offer. He seemed shocked to have been rejected, but that didn't stop him from looking me up and down the rest of the night, and disregarding personal boundaries whenever he tried to strike up a conversation. One for the books, no doubt....
The night continued with lots of laughs and silly dancing. The bride wanted a line dance, and after asking the DJ three times, and telling him once, the American girls took the floor for Cotton Eye Joe. All the Irish guys in the room just sort of stopped and stared, drinks in hand, looking not a little befuddled. Once the DJ packed up, we all moved to a bar across the hall for more drinks and some live music from a couple of the guys who brought guitars. I retired at about 3:00, but I hear the festivities carried on until about 5am. Those Irish sure know how to throw a party!
Oh, did I mention I caught the bouquet? According to my new friend, the DJ, that means I'll be married to an Irishman within twelve months. I laughed and told him...something that would offend any Irish boy (I use "boy" intentionally) who reads this. Let's just say I've got other plans :).
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