Rebekah W.

Every wedding has some funny story that follows. A bride slipping down the aisle, cake being smashed in the face, or that embarrassing uncle that you wish you didn’t invite. My story falls under none of those.

My friends and I are close, sisters in Christ, separated at birth you get the story. If someone does something silly or embarrassing, the others will not let you forget, and will bring it up when other conversations die. My friend Christina got engaged to a wonderful man on Valentine’s Day in 2009. They were and still are perfect for each other, the red headed duo!

The night of the rehearsal dinner, everything was going smoothly. The bride-to-be and her soon to be hubby sat next to each other surrounded by the wedding party. The maid of honor sat next to her across from her husband. I was sitting down a few seats away from the bride, talking to the other bridesmaids when suddenly there was a shout. The whole wedding party looks over and the maid of honor’s face was turning bright red from laughing.

What had happened was she had reached over the table and had knocked one of the candles in the middle of the table over and the hot wax had splattered all over the front of her husband’s pants! Thankfully, no real damage was inflicted, yet it left a lasting memory for all of us to look back on and laugh about.

The next day, my friend Christina married the love of her life in a beautiful church in Charleston. Tears came down her face as she said her vows, and some of the bridesmaids got teary too. To lighten the mood so she could talk, the maid of honor whispered behind her, “hot wax.” Christina got the joke and smiled, and she was able to finish her vows.

To wrap up this story, at the reception and as a surprise to the bride and groom one of the guys from our church dressed up as James Brown and danced and sang to them. No one was expecting it to happen, which made it funny and awesome. It was certainly a weekend to remember!

Sherrinda

Just walk down the aisle and ignore the mass of eyes glued on my belly. Seriously, haven’t people seen a six-month pregnant bridesmaid before? The only consolation was my sister coming in behind me, with her belly as big as mine. The poor bride, my youngest sister, had two out of her four bridesmaids pregnant and looking “oh-so-lovely” in our royal blue taffeta.

My sister, the matron-of-honor glows with pregnancy and she steps up to take her place beside me. My heart swells with pride as my three-year-old son walks through the doors and down the aisle. He holds a satin pillow in his hands and stomps up the stairs to stand between the groom and best man. Then my sister, the bride, comes in all her glory to meet her groom.

It was a lovely ceremony, but grew long. My son fidgeted, twisting around to gaze at the audience. Then to my horror, he stuck his finger up his nose and dug around for buried treasure. Not only did he find treasure, he promptly buried his treasure on top of the best man’s shoe. My cheeks grew hot. I hear a snort and a giggle behind me, and my preggo sister’s shoulders shake in front of me. I bite my cheek to stifle the laughter welling up inside.

I glanced at my sister, the bride, who is gazing at her groom with adoring eyes—oblivious to my son’s shenanigans. A snicker behind me made me glance back at my son. He was going for more treasure and the poor best man, hands clasped, his head facing the pastor, scooted his foot around, trying to dodge the gooey offering.

What do I do? I glanced at my husband sitting in the audience. He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. Ignore it. Right. A small guffaw sounded behind me and I turned around to see the last bridesmaid bent over at the waist, her body shaking with suppressed laughter. The bridesmaid directly behind me grinned at me, tears streaming down her face.

I turned back toward the front, and saw my son squat beside the best man, trying to get a closer shot at his shoes. The best man had given up, and let my son have his way, using the shoes as his canvas, adding more texture and depth.

“At least he isn’t eating them.” The whisper came from behind, along with a muffled snort.

I lost it, and from then on struggled with my pregnancy-challenged-bladder. My son continued to dig, and the giggles and snickers went on for what seemed like an eternity—until the pastor ended, and the bride and groom kissed.

My son got a huge round of applause when he exited the stage, and this not-quite-so-proud-momma was just thankful he hadn’t burst a blood vessel in his excavation.

Now that would have been a disaster!