Going to the Chapel

Ruth Ryan

I now pronounce you man and wife.” When I hear these words come November, there will be reason to celebrate. My daughter will be married, and my husband and I can sit back, relax, and enjoy her wedding festivities. All the months of planning and fretting over details will be finis. Right now, I’m experiencing “wedding on the brain syndrome,” and some of the shows airing in my mind—Bridezillas and Worst Wedding Disasters Ever, to name a few—are not so amusing. They do, however, make me recall some of my more noteworthy wedding memories.

As a mother-of-the-groom several years ago, I unfortunately got caught up in the moment and ended up experiencing one of my most embarrassing moments. When my son, Reese, got married in San Antonio, we held his reception at the Plaza Hotel where many of us stayed for the weekend. The reception was winding down and the bride and groom had just departed for their hour-long horse-drawn carriage ride through downtown San Antonio. The hotel employee whom I had been planning the wedding with came up to me and asked if I would like to take a quick peek at their beautifully decorated bridal suite. She wanted me to see the rose petals, flowers, champagne, etc. that would be waiting for the newlyweds when they returned. One of my girlfriends standing next to me overheard us and wanted to tag along. Sure, what a great idea. The three of us scampered up the elevator, ran down the hall to the bridal suite, and as the hotel lady unlocked the door and flung it open, my friend let out a scream. I’m sure none of us will forget my son’s expression as he stood face to face with his mother, her friend, and the wedding planner. Thank goodness Reese was only halfway undressed at that particular moment. The three of us turned and ran, red-faced, as fast as our high heels could take us. I guess I could blame my faux pas on a little too much champagne, but how was I to know that my son was feeling ill and had asked his carriage driver to return after only one block. As in life, timing is everything.

Speaking of bad timing, tension in the air is certain to put a damper on an otherwise decent wedding. A bachelor party that got out of hand the night before the big day caused so much stress for one bride I knew that she threatened to call off the wedding minutes before it began. The husband-to-be was already in the doghouse, both sets of parents were mad at each other, the bride was crying, and the bridesmaid’s faces were as flushed as their Pepto pink dresses in the 95-degree heat outside the church. Though the wedding started an hour late, all’s well that ends well, I guess—the couple is still married.

Evidently, groomsmen tend to get a little rowdy when they get together, kind of like fraternity brothers. A couple of years ago our friends’ son had a lovely outdoor wedding in Austin. Under one of the sprawling oak trees were a couple of beautiful peacocks. During the reception, while no one was looking, one of the groomsmen reached down and tried to pluck a feather from its tail. Apparently the big bird wanted to keep its feathers intact and proceeded to spur the man’s leg, tearing a hole in his rented tuxedo in the process. I’m sure it was rather difficult for him to explain the blood, sweat, and “tears” when he returned his tux to Al’s Formal Wear. The song that Steve Wariner sang at my older son’s wedding reception comes to mind: Some Fools Never Learn.

Destination weddings seem to be popular these days, and I’ve seen my share of proposals on the big screens at baseball stadiums, and even a wedding that took place at home plate. But the wedding that really took the cake, so to speak, occurred in New Orleans. It seems that the Triple-A Baseball team, the New Orleans Zephyrs, introduced a river rat mascot named Boudreaux who had a girlfriend mascot named Clotilde. Someone in the front office decided that Boudreaux and Clotilde would get married on the field before the game as part of a minor league promotion night. One woman in the sellout crowd was moved to tears. A year later Clotilde and Boudreaux had a baby boy named Thibideaux. Gee, whatever happened to the good ol’ days of walking down the aisle followed by cake and punch?

Recalling all of these out-of-the-ordinary wedding outtakes has me thinking more and more about my daughter’s upcoming festivities. I wonder if there’s such a thing as wedding insurance…. Well, here’s hoping it’s a smashing success, with nothing to recall later but good times, laughter, and a celebration of love.

Editor's Note: Ruth Ryan is a contributing writer for The Buzz Magazines and wife of baseball Hall-of-Famer Nolan Ryan.