THE WAITING IS THE HARDEST PART

I sat down, at the church, in my designated holding area. I placed a call to my groomsmen and suggested that maybe they could bring some snacks over for us. A little later, my groomsmen arrived with a bag of snacks, including Hot and Spicy Chex Mix, the perfect wedding-kiss-to-remember accompaniment. We gave high fives and said we were looking sweet. Not one of us could correctly attach a boutonnière; so much for my crafties. The videographer made his appearance, made sure to document the contents of the bag of snacks, and asked my parents for some words of encouragement.

My mom said, “I’ve always wanted a girl and am happy to finally have one.”

My dad, giving his patented head hug and cheek press, said, “He was quite a deal for a blue light special.”

To summarize, I was perhaps their second choice of gender, and I had some redeeming qualities for being deeply discounted merchandise from Kmart. They concluded by saying they were both very proud and loved me very much (implied: despite my man parts and minimal commercial retail value).

I had been planning and helping orchestrate the next part of my life for nine months. Let’s get to it already. Get me wife. Get me on vacation.

Near the end of the pre-wedding downtime, I was joined by Marvin, Christa’s dad. He has never been described as a hugs-and-kisses kind of guy. But he wanted to tell me that he and The MOB were very excited and happy for Christa and me. The true amount of emotion behind his statements wasn’t outwardly obvious, aside from a little shakiness in his voice and what I thought were watery eyes behind his tinted glasses.

I was in a state of anxious delirium and probably sounded like the Tasmanian devil, but responded that I was very excited to be marrying Christa and, thus, joining the Norris family. I then started spinning madly. This was followed by one of those slightly awkward handshake-hug combinations, and the spinning stopped.

It was time to get started. We were lined up behind the secret door. As we got in order and waited for our musical cue to walk into the sanctuary of the church, Matt asked, “Do you have the ring?”

My pits moistened. Boy, that was entertaining. Matt had been given the responsibility of carrying my ring. It had been delayed for as long as possible, because he was my little brother, who had a history of letting people “borrow” things and not keeping good records of the transactions. So his practical joke was made more effective by the slight fear of historical precedence. I laughed but had to consider that he might not have the ring, when it came time to symbolize my union. The possibility existed that he may have outjoked himself. It was go time, so I hoped for the best.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival