Member Poem

Having heard all the horror stories, 
I was prepared for some disaster 
to strike the day I got married
to the great love of my life.

Would I set my dress on fire? 
Would the officiant get lost? 
Lose the license before it was filed? 
Misplace the rings? Drop the cake?
Something (says tradition) 
is bound to go wrong.

At Mary-Catherine's wedding, 
the best man locked the rings in his car. 
Dwayne had to break a window 
to get them to the altar.

Nothing so dire disrupted our day, 
but still, we had a few bumps:

I feared no one would come
(whether illness, snowstorm, 
or some act of god), but only one,
then three, then five guests
were as sick as a dog.

I bit my nails all morning 
waiting for another shoe to drop, 
but everything, it seemed, was fine - 
once we found the "missing" cord,
put in a safe place (at the hotel)
that was promptly forgotten (and found).

At my mother-in-law's wedding 
twenty-eight years ago last May, 
the handfasting cord was left at home
(but an improvised gift-ribbon
was there to save the day).

Nothing so dire disrupted our day, 
but still, we had a good laugh:

I waited for my cue, 
but the music was too soft.
(I had to run down the aisle, 
after a good shove!)
The officiant was handed 
the ring box upside down.
(But dropping the ring
some say brings good luck!)

"When does this start?" and
"Where do we go?" 
asked our guests, the programs 
having mysteriously disappeared.

My groom stepped on my dress
(having not accounted for train),
but he caught me before I face-planted
so I sure can't complain.

And the photos? Oh gosh!
My makeup is running and 
his kilt pleats are stitched shut,
but you'd hardly have noticed…
because we look so in love.

There were hitches in plans 
and stitches in pleats
but in the end we got hitched
and there were enough butts in seats.