Six years ago today, Ella and I exchanged wedding vows. It was a lovely affair and everyone had a good time. Everyone except the members of the bridal party who did not make it to the reception until seventy-five minutes after the wedding ended because the photographer insisted on taking 18,432 pictures.
You know how something always goes wrong at a wedding? Stuff that make people say "One day you'll look back on this and laugh" or "You'll have something memorable to talk about in twenty years."
Just because something is memorable doesn't mean you want to remember it.
Everything was fine until the pastor introduced us to the invitees. "I am honored to introduce you to Mister and Missress…"
Time stopped. I had never heard the term Missress. I still have no idea how to spell it correctly (Missrus? Mizrus? Mistake?). Apparently, it's some old-school Southern word for Missus.
If you watch our wedding video, you can see a strange look come over my face and my head whip back and look at the pastor. But it was nothing compared to the next word that came out of his mouth.
Our last name. Only it wasn't our last name. Sure, it sounded close to our last name, but the first vowel was an a instead of an o. Once again, I looked at the pastor like he was insane.
And one by one, every bridegroom came back to the holding room, shook my hand, and said, "Congratulations, Mr. Halland." Jerks.
But hey! At least we'll have something memorable to talk about in twenty years.
And would you like to know how we spent our anniversary? We tried to have a romantic getaway last weekend, but you know how that turned out. So today, we decided to stay home and take care of Zed who was diagnosed with chicken pox this morning.
Feel free to share any personal wedding-gone-awry stories you may have.
Song of the day: Ballroom Blitz by Sweet
Iron Man
