Love and Marriage, Go Together Like a Horse and Carriage

The Royal wedding is over. The royal horse manure has been picked up, the fascinators are back in their boxes and even Joss Stone, who sang at the royal after-party, is back in NJ with my brother rewiring her house. I’ll admit that I got caught up, along with about 1 in every 10 people in America. Today, on the eve of my anniversary, it's hard not to think about the glaring contrasts between the that and my own wedding, and even some of the others I've been a part of.

First of all, they got picture perfect weather while I married Wingman in a Nor'Easter which flooded the entire Jersey Shore peninsula. I sloshed down the aisle after my train fell in a puddle outside the church-no cute, toothless pages to carry it in. The flooding meant that people just couldn't show up to our $35 per person (including $2.00 extra for shrimp cocktail) beach reception, which certainly wasn't the case at the $45 million British bash.  I'll bet the royal guests would have paddled their own canoes to the castle if they had to. At the end of the night, Wingman's Best Man's uninvited quasi-girlfriend (a girl who yes, just showed up-good thing we had empty seats) took the top tier of my cake as well as the dorky dove topper-both which were never seen again. By the looks of Royal Best Man William's slim bride Kate, I doubt she even had a piece of the lemon elderberry cake, much less stole a whole layer.

Can one ever forget the looks on some of the Royals' faces as Bishop Michael Curry gave his impassioned sermon? "Not something ever heard before" said the press.  At Wingman's and my wedding, our pastor said words that we were sure could only have been written for the two of us.  That was, until the following week, when my parents attended another wedding, and the pastor uttered the exact same words to that couple. Since the bride was a recovering drug addict, you can only imagine what my mother looked like, hearing the similarities between me/her. Neither Queen was amused.

The royal couple selected music that meant something to them, played or sung by fabulous talent.  Heck, Sir Elton John cancelled two performances in Las Vegas just to be at Windsor. Wingman and I on the other hand, were met at the reception by the band we paid royally for, who not-so-politely informed us that since they couldn't find the sheet music to Gladys Knight and the Pip's "You're the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me" we didn't have a first-dance song. We were given a list of what they knew, said "what the hell" and asked them to play anything by The Beatles.  We were fortunate that they didn't know "Why Don't We Do It In The Road."

The new duchess was smart not to have bridesmaids. Those little kids were tucked in bed by the time the reception started, so the whole night was about her, and of course her hubby. Unlike at my friend's wedding when a bridesmaid was dancing too close to a candelabra. Her partner dipped her at the end of the song and her hair caught on fire. Fortunately, their photographer doused her with water so she didn't end up like a Michael Jackson poster child for Pepsi. Did I mention that "THAT bridesmaid" was me? And just like my own wedding, my dress was soggy the rest of the night. Still sorry about that Patti.

I got tired of listening to commentators talk about flying 3500 miles from New York, or even 5500 miles from LA with their entourages in tow. At least they could understand and be understood when asking where the loo was. Wingman and I and two of our boys traveled almost 8000 miles to a wedding where we couldn't speak nor read the language. After the ceremony, we were taken to a private party room and introduced to a group of businessmen/guests who we smiled at, and nodded our heads like bobble head dolls, before they left us for parts unknown.  The four of us picked at a leftover cold buffet, and wondered when the reception would start.  Much later, a member of the bride's family found us and apologized- it seemed that the reception was over and we totally missed it because no one thought to look for us. Ya'll think George and Amal were forgotten?

A stylist dressed MOB Doria Ragland in Oscar de la Renta, her dreadlocks gracefully held back by a Stephen Jones hat. Meanwhile at the same wedding I just mentioned, the stylist depleted what was left of the ozone layer coercing my hair into what she deemed a suitable wedding style-no hat necessary. The makeup artist scoffed at my eyebrows (I THINK that's why she was rolling her eyes and spitting), then proceeded to shave off half of them to draw a better shape. You KNOW that Serena Williams would have hit someone between the eyes with a tennis ball rather than go back to America sans eyebrows. And finally, so as not to stand out from the rest of the guests, (who all were shorter and had dark hair)  I was dressed in a very pretty but shapeless Hanbok, complete with crinolines and PANTALOONS. Yes, it was safe to say that my knickers were in a twist that day.

Finally, there were the photos of the bride's mom sitting alone in the pew of the cathedral; the father of the bride absent. Similarly, Wingman didn't make the ceremony of a very important wedding. Right before it started, I insisted to the wedding planner that my sons had to escort me down the aisle. When the ceremony ended, I had an unplanned "Duh" moment at the thought of walking out of the ceremony alone. But as I got to his row, my youngest brother stepped out, and escorted me the rest of the way, just as Prince Charles did with Ms. Ragland.

I know my brother did it out of love for me. I'm convinced however, that Prince Charles did it just to get away from his wife with her hat. So here's a toast to weddings. The good. The bad. And the ugly hat ones.