SIGNING OFF

After we thanked everyone, in attendance or not, the party was allowed to seek its own identity. We were able to socialize a bit and see how everyone else was faring on such a magical day. I went to the bar to get my very own Eternitini. As I was waiting for the concoction to be prepared, I inquired of a friend if he had had a chance to try one. He said they were tasty but got a bit sweet after eight. Let the love flow. This may be unrelated, but a couple hours later, it was discovered that one could make the sound equipment skip by jumping and landing in a certain spot on the dance floor. This provided a good fifteen minutes of entertainment and signaled that our time to depart had come.

We made it out front and into the awaiting limo. I held her hand, and we began our glorious ride into ever after.

“Do you think everyone had fun?” she asked.

“Everyone I spoke to loved it. Was it your dream wedding?”

“It was perfect.”

We kissed, and the limo stopped. The convenient location of the hotel, around the corner, had made our glorious ride into the ever after gloriously short, at least the limo portion of it.

“We should have told him to go around the block a couple of times,” I said.

“Next time, we are going straight to the airport,” she replied.

“Next time?”

I don’t remember anything after that.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival

Here Begins the Rest of My Life

Pre-wedding, Jimmy came over and asked me where I would like the pauses to be in my vows. He said Christa had already chosen hers, and it was up to me where I wanted mine. So I selected my pauses. The problem was that the vows remained the same, but our pauses were slightly different. This caused Christa to at least contemplate: “These are not the pauses I agreed to. Whose vows are these?”

On her turn, she naturally sought to watch Jimmy recite the vows, to get a confirmation that she was hearing what she thought she should be hearing, in the appropriate-sized chunks. This did not register with either of us, as we were being sprinkled with the Lord’s love droppings. But later, she was accused of being a cyborg by one of our guests—or more specifically, one of our guest’s guests. This is why you have a gift registry and table assignments—to redirect and isolate poor taste as much as possible.

Reciting our vows to one another was the most emotional part of the ceremony. It was not the official expiration of my checklist that got me worked up. Nine months of preparation and stress had disappeared with six sentences. I don’t know how to describe it, but I could have saved Christmas for all of Whoville.

We exchanged rings, lit a candle, and waited for the music to end. Prayer said, union confirmed, kiss initiated, kiss completed, announcement made, departures commenced. As I passed my dad in the front row, he gave me a backhand pat on the butt, like I had just come out of a baseball game. “Way to go, Boo,” probably accompanied it but was inaudible to me.

The entire ceremony can be summed up best by the following conversation with my groomsman Andy.

“That went well,” he said.

“Which part?” I inquired.

“The whole thing.”

Was any more explanation needed?

We had a fake limo send-off, drove around the block, and then returned for pictures. We went through every combination of family and bridal party members possible, utilizing the perfect combination of angled shoulders and invasion of personal space to make everyone appear natural and at ease. Our photographer also insisted on a series of highly unnatural-looking handshakes, as if my groomsmen and I had recently ended a prolonged military conflict.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival

THE CEREMONY

We entered the church, one minister and four athletically built, tuxedo-jacket-wearing men at, or nearing, thirty. I could tell there were people in the church and smiled at our parents. The procession began. Everything started out well, and the bridesmaids made it down without any trouble. As Angie, the maid of honor, started off, the musical selection for that portion apparently ran out of time. Our guitarist had made a big deal about needing the approximate duration for each musical selection, as he was incapable of simply stopping when the time was right. (Your favorite accent can be reapplied here.) Could you stop the tide from coming in? Would you stop making love simply because the fire alarm went off? Would you start wearing pants simply because it’s cold out?

In this continued silence, the first of our two fantastic recruits came, the Ring Bear. He had a somewhat varying pace and a slightly nonlinear approach to arriving at the altar. It wasn’t the swagger of a drunken buffoon, something more like the slight missteps taken by someone in a strong wind. I personally did not detect a breeze.

“You did a great job,” I told him and patted his head.

“Do you want to play?” he asked.

“Maybe a little later. I’ve got some things to do first.”

“OK.”

You have to admire his ability to keep his priorities straight. Play first, everything else second.

Next was Daphane, our flower girl, looking lovely in her dress, with accompanying non-cleavage-enhancing locket. She was very attentive to form. She alternated hands in support and distribution, making lovely sweeping gestures out to the side and depositing rose petals off to the side of the runner, a portion of one deposit actually made it into someone’s lap. I was only able to eyeball it, but I guesstimated the foci of the petal distributions were four and one-half feet apart, or two smaller-person strides, with all deviations under six inches, perfected through nine months of practice.

The music finally returned as Christa appeared at the end of the aisle, making it a magical moment on two fronts, love and musical accompaniment. This was the first time I had seen her in her wedding dress. There was late afternoon sun coming in the west-facing doors behind her, and she was simply glowing. Remarkably, the glow didn’t leave as she came down the aisle. Her beauty in the magical mystery dress, and her excitement and anticipation created such a wonderful feeling in me. About halfway down, her emotions almost got the better of her. Her eyes got big, and her lower lip quivered a bit. The good news was: I never thought for a moment that she was suddenly overwhelmed with fear and doubt, instead of pure happiness. The even better news was that I had correctly interpreted someone else’s feelings, and we weren’t actually about to have our own Runaway Bride moment.

As we met one another at the head of the aisle, we both smiled really big and said how pretty we were and took the last couple of steps up to the altar. The music continued for another thirty seconds, as that part of the magic subsided.

We declared our intent to marry. The intent was like a checkpoint at an amusement park, where they make sure you’re tall enough and that you understand the risks and waive all potential injury claims for the ride you’re about to take. We both assented with “Yes, I will.”
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival

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

PERSONAL PREPARATIONS

I was back at my brother’s house to shower and get ready. I relaxed for a bit and realized I was reasonably good at something that I had no desire to ever do again. I was a budding wedding-planning superstar, opting to retire after my first day in the big leagues. How much more magic could one person stuff into a day? I wonder if anyone will see my fanny pack under my jacket?

I sorted out my attire for the evening, making sure everything new was available and designated to the right body part. I entered the shower with my bear soap. I had to borrow some shampoo from the wall-mounted dispenser. Is this a violation of the only new stuff rule? Surely not. I opened the soap and realized that I had a washcloth, but it wasn’t a new washcloth. Perhaps I was a little overconfident in my preparations, as I had obviously not accounted for every interaction with cleaning products I was to have that afternoon.

Should I use a new razorblade, or will that increase the risk of cuts? I asked myself. I was using the same deodorant and toothpaste from yesterday, as well. I was starting to feel impure. Should I stop now and run to the store and start again? I couldn’t! There wasn’t enough time to get everyone through the shower and still be excessively early to the ceremony. I enacted the “it’s only what you wear” clause. I shouldn’t be concerned with my own purity. It was simply the façade of purity that my outerwear, covering up my vile secondhand-toiletry body, will project that was important. At the completion of my cleansing, I realized that my disposable contacts weren’t new either. They were sort of new, but not new new. I couldn’t throw them out, because I didn’t have another pair; I wanted to see; and that simply wouldn’t have been economical. Who the hell was talking about economics? Were my inner voices not united in comprehending what this day was? Today was to be pure magic, with emphasis on both pure and magic. Practicality and fiscal prudence left long ago.

I pictured my beloved in order to try and regain my composure. She would be my guiding force. She had accepted me, knowing my flaws, and decided not to question my apparent knack for crafts. I would stand before all the witnesses we had invited, so many days ago, and pledge myself to her. A feeling of relative peace descended upon me. The next vision I had was of the Pu, and he was laughing. It was kind of a hissing, whistly laugh that made him seem of Asian descent—like some blind Mr. Miyagi-esque ninja master, finding humor in his pupil, who had trouble grasping “sand the floor.” I was never more aware of his all-encompassing genius.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival