In today’s new The Real Marrying Types of Change the Word, Glynis Astie shares how she married the man of her dreams not once but twice.
When I was asked by the lovely Laura Chapman to write about one of my real-life wedding memories, I jumped for joy. I actually jumped twice, because I had two weddings–to the same man–thereby giving me two memories to share. (Thank your lucky stars that we didn’t have the third one. This post would have been soooo much longer!)
My wonderful, charming, handsome, FRENCH husband, Sébastien, and I had a rather short courtship, finding ourselves engaged after five weeks of knowing each other. We had planned on a much longer engagement than, um, five months. (I still wince at this statement and it’s been nearly fourteen years…) However, when my then fiancé was laid off from his job and threatened with deportation, I did what any girl would do. Swallowed my fear and focused on the joy of the situation–like having two wedding dresses, two wedding cakes, two wedding rings, you get the point. It was going to be awesome!
We were living in California at the time, but elected to fly back east so my family and friends would be able to witness our wedding adventure (because planning a wedding in less than a week can’t really be categorized as anything less!), but the expedited nature of our nuptials didn’t allow for Sébastien’s family to attend. I felt a massive sense of guilt about marrying him without sharing anything other than a brief phone conversation with his parents. In my mind, I was robbing them of a sacred experience: the wedding of their only child. After all, the next wedding would just be for show.
Pushing my feelings aside, I did my best to focus on how much I loved my groom rather than the swirling pregnancy/green card/ you-name-it rumors resulting from our impromptu nuptials. The next few days flew by and I suddenly found myself at the threshold of the most hideous room I had ever seen, preparing to walk down that fateful aisle. Flanked on each side by my parents, I did my best not to gag at the wood paneling, plentiful pilgrim portraits and stained gold carpeting. In that moment, my world came crashing down around me. Everything was happening so quickly and I wondered if we were crazy to think such a hasty marriage could actually work.
With my heart racing, I looked up to find Sébastien gazing at me. I didn’t see my fear reflected in his eyes. I didn’t see confusion, anxiety or even an ounce of uncertainty. All I saw was the depth of his love for me. After beaming for all I was worth, I swiftly kicked my doubts to curb and sashayed down the aisle with glee. Best. Day. Ever.
The memory from our second wedding is a true gem. I can laugh about it now, but at the time I thought I would have to be committed to an insane asylum. The morning of my long-awaited, fairy tale-esque wedding (which was eight months after the civil ceremony), I discovered that my perfect wedding dress–you know, the one that makes you feel like the princess you always wanted to be–was missing. MISSING! My heart just stopped for a second. Perhaps it’s not funny quite yet.
My mother had been given the task of transporting my dress to the hotel, given that Sébastien and I had a minivan full of his relatives we were doing our best not to lose. She gave this prized possession to the hotel manager, eliciting the promise that the dress would be delivered to the bridal suite without delay. Imagine my surprise when I woke the next morning and found all four closets in our room devoid of my gorgeous gown?! I’m pretty sure I woke every single guest in the hotel with my pained screams.
In my deranged state, I hypothesized since I was already married (and therefore didn’t have to have the holy-crap-I’m-getting-married freak out), the universe HAD to give me another reason to break down on this auspicious occasion. What can I say? I had finally lost it. I was convinced I had angered the wedding gods by marrying my husband without meeting his family until just two days before our SECOND wedding.
Three extremely long hours later, the dress turned up and we got on with the show. I wish I could tell you things ran smoothly from there. Multiple power outages led to my walking down four flights of steep metal stairs in a rather poofy wedding dress, lit by nothing but glow sticks AND my letting out a stream of profanity which made several wedding guests blush when my grand entrance was paused midway due to the sudden absence of music. The ample supply of alcohol helped to eradicate those memories–if only for the evening. Either way, it was an unforgettable evening!
Sébastien and I had planned to have a third wedding in his hometown of Le Caylar, France, but it simply wasn’t in the cards. Although I was never able to experience it firsthand, I did write my version of what could have happened in French Toast, the second book in my French Twist series. It was quite the event, if I do say so myself!
We'll be back with more "The Real Marrying Types of CTW" tomorrow with a new story from Samantha March.
French Twist. As this was just the beginning of their epic love story, Glynis continued to chronicle their adventures in the sequel, French Toast, and the final installment in the series, French Fry.
When Glynis is not writing, she is trying to keep the peace amongst the three men and two cats in her life, finding missing body parts (Lego pieces are small!), supervising a myriad of homework assignments and keeping a tenuous hold on her sanity by consuming whatever chocolate is in the vicinity.
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