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“JUST RUN IT, GODDAMNIT!!!,” I screamed at Dave as we approached what was clearly going to be a red light leading onto the very scenic and very congested Key Bridge. While I encouraged Dave to break all sorts of laws in our effort to get me to the wedding venue before the reception started, we reached a new level in our friendship as I stuffed my boobs into a stick-on bra in his passenger seat.
I had just woken up a scarce 15 minutes beforehand to Dave pounding on my bedroom window at the behest of my bestie Betty, who was also attending the wedding and who had accidentally stolen my phone the night before. I opened the door with wide panicked eyes and he wordlessly held out his phone to me with Betty on the line.
“Where the FUCK are you?!” she yelled. “People have already noticed you’re gone. You have 20 minutes to get here before the reception starts and you ruin this wedding. GET IN THE CAR NOW!!!”
I mutely nodded, sprinted inside holding back tears, grabbed my backless dress and makeup bag, and raced to Dave’s car, where I subsequently began encouraging him to risk jail time to cover up my extended six hour nap while engaging in mild nudity in the front seat. Our arrival at the hotel was literally a scene from every romcom you’ve ever watched. Dave squealed up to the driveway and I fell out of the car, tucking my boobs into my dress and hopping across the cobblestone walkway on one foot as I tried to put my other shoe on. It would have been funny if I weren’t so panicked.
I ran inside the posh Georgetown hotel and breathlessly asked the confused-looking front desk attendant which way the wedding was. I didn’t even stop moving as I ran across the plush carpeting in the direction she wordlessly pointed to. I saw the bridal suite door and burst through it in a whirlwind of dishevelment and last night’s alcohol. Ariel stood in the center of the room, hands on hips, surrounded by a gaggle of women, clearly trying to remain calm as multiple pairs of hands hovered over the folds of fabric around her ass. Everyone looked up simultaneously and I stood there in the doorway, framed in my shame.
I rushed to the glowering group behind her and started doing the bustle of her dress as I did the only thing I could do in this situation: I groveled and begged for forgiveness. After three short minutes of my fastening and apologizing and Ariel’s silence, the bustle was secured and she turned around to face me. I was prepared to be thrown out of the wedding, screamed at, or excommunicated, but she simply held up a hand to stop my frantic blabbering and took a deep breath.
“Everything is fine. You’re here, the dress is bustled, and we’re only five minutes behind. I’m disappointed in you, but I’m not mad. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the night and talk about it later.”
Every bride, please aspire to be an Ariel on your wedding day. She was essentially unphased and responded to this pretty huge hiccup in her big day with as much grace as anyone could muster. She swept out of the room and I immediately burst into tears, hating myself even more. Betty appeared at my side with a cocktail napkin and a glass of wine that threatened to spill over the brim.
“You can cry for two minutes, then chug this glass of wine and let’s go have fun,” she commanded.
I managed to follow her instructions and the rest of the evening was surprisingly wonderful. In fact, I would highly recommend this strategy of crying and chugging to address any and all problems you have in the future. The venue was romantic, the food was delicious, the DJ was killer, and the bar was open. Beyond the expected and deserved teasing I received from everyone throughout the night, we all had an amazing time.
After the reception ended, the bride and groom had the foresight to know that there was no way our crew of degenerates was heading home at 11 p.m., so they booked a bar in Georgetown for the afterparty. Alcohol continued flowing, laughter permeated the entire bar, and we all got to know Eric’s brother, who had flown in from London for the occasion.
We all know that I have a weakness for attractive Brads, and Eric’s brother Max was no exception. In addition to being a personal trainer and having an adorable South African accent, he is a notoriously charming flirt. We had been pre-briefed about each other and granted prior approval by the groom, so everyone had been watching us the entire weekend to see if anything would happen.
However, I assumed that I looked like hot garbage since I had literally gotten ready in 15 minutes, and to be honest, I was pretty sure that Max was out of my league. In addition to that, I had just hooked up with Aussie Brad less than 24 hours prior, so I was not looking for a hookup. Max, however, seemed to find my sudden lack of interest intriguing and followed me around the bar in hot pursuit. There’s only so long a girl can listen to an attractive man with a sexy accent flirt with her before succumbing to his charms, and that time is shortened proportionally by how much wine and gin she’s had. Needless to say, Max and I were in an Uber back to my house in about an hour.
The bride and groom approved, Max was charismatic and attractive, I had reclaimed phone, and I had no major responsibilities for the next day’s late 1 p.m. wedding brunch. It seemed too good to be true..