So, this whole thing kicked off because my buddy, let’s call him Mike, decided he was gonna tie the knot. And somehow, I got roped into helping out. My big “practice” for the year, I guess. I figured, “Hey, how tough can it be? Just a wedding, right?” Man, was I wrong. Looking back, it was less “practice” and more like a trial by fire.
The So-Called Plan
We started off, or at least I tried to start us off, with some kind of plan. You know, the usual stuff: venue, guest list, a bit of music. I volunteered to handle some of the “coordination,” which is a fancy word for being the guy who runs around like a headless chicken when things go south. And boy, did they go south.
First, it was the theme. Or lack thereof. Then a sudden decision for a theme that changed three times in one week. My head was already spinning, and we hadn’t even gotten to the part where actual booze was involved. I was just trying to keep up, jotting down notes that became useless the next day.
Then came the pre-wedding tasks. Oh, the tasks. It felt like a never-ending list.
- Picking up suits that were, of course, the wrong size for someone.
- Chasing down RSVPs from folks who apparently don’t know how calendars work.
- Trying to assemble some DIY decorations that looked easier on Pinterest. That was a solid afternoon of pure frustration, glue everywhere.
My “practice” really involved me learning how to nod and smile while internally screaming. And how to untangle fairy lights without losing my mind. That’s a skill, right?
The Main Event Unfolds
The night before, the stag do. Let’s just say it lived up to certain expectations of chaos. I remember trying to keep everyone relatively in one piece. Failed on that front for a couple of guys. Woke up the next morning feeling like I’d wrestled a bear. My own personal pre-hangover before the main event.
Wedding day. Bright and early. Too early. First crisis hit before breakfast. Someone couldn’t find the wedding favors. Turns out they were in my car, where I’d put them for “safekeeping” after someone else forgot them. See? Headless chicken.
Getting everyone ready was like herding cats. Cats who were also slightly hungover and very stressed. I found myself fixing bow ties, searching for lost cufflinks, and even making an emergency run for extra hairspray. My role expanded with every passing minute. I was no longer just “coordinating”; I was a one-man pit crew.
The ceremony itself? A blur. I was mostly standing at the back, making sure nothing else caught fire, metaphorically speaking. Though, with the amount of candles and flowing fabric, I was genuinely on edge for a bit. My main job became spotting potential disasters before they happened.
Then the reception. This is where my “practice” truly peaked. It was… memorable. The speeches went on a bit, one uncle decided his phone playlist was better than the DJ’s, and the dance floor saw some moves that defied physics, and maybe good taste.
I spent a good chunk of time trying to diplomatically retrieve the microphone, making sure the cake didn’t topple before it was cut, and generally just putting out small fires. Someone lost a shoe. Someone else “misplaced” the groom for about twenty minutes. He was found “admiring” the hotel’s ice sculpture. Closely.
The Lingering Aftertaste
The next day, it really felt like “The Hangover.” Bits and pieces of memory. People asking, “Did that really happen?” Yes. Yes, it did. My phone was full of blurry photos and even blurrier videos that only told half the story.
My big takeaway from this whole practical exercise? Weddings are chaos. Beautiful chaos, maybe, for the happy couple. For the guy “helping out”? Just chaos. I learned a lot, I guess. Learned I’m pretty good at finding lost property under pressure. Learned I can function on minimal sleep and maximum caffeine.
And I definitely “practiced” my patience. Over and over again. So yeah, if another friend gets married, I think my gift will be a very nice toaster, sent by mail. And I’ll wish them all the best. From a very, very safe distance. That’s my new practice plan.