Like many, I had dreamed of my wedding since I was a little girl. When the occasion finally arrived, I was determined to create my perfect day, the most beautiful gown, the tastiest cake, and most gorgeous church. It was to be the ideal wedding, amongst all of our friends and family, that is, except for one or two of my long lost relatives who were always referred to as the “shady ones” by the rest of the family.

Our minister was an elderly woman who, though very sincere and passionate in her calling, was also verbally candid with her thoughts. I grew weary as a glimpse of one of her rambles at my wedding caught my mind, but given that most ceremonies are somewhat scripted, my fears were quickly disregarded. Besides, with the church came the minister presiding in it, and I was willing to compromise.

At rehearsal, the evening before the wedding, our minister, who lived beside of the church, arrived in her ever so sheer nightgown, giving us an image that no one wanted. Standing at the altar with the bridesmaids and groomsmen, she filled the script with humorless jokes and mini sermons before an abrupt halt, at which point she ogled my well-endowed matron of honor while attempting to arrange a date with her son. My strength finally failed me as tears flooded my eyes, fearing her actions during our wedding ceremony. My perfect day was threatened.

My bridesmaids and I spent the next morning getting our hair done and preparing for the exchange of vows while I envisioned the re-enactment of the evening prior. Our guests soon filled the church, and I was ready to marry the man of my dreams. That is when the news arrived that our beloved Officiant was missing. I convinced myself to remain calm as one of our ushers scurried to her house. Upon her arrival, fifteen minutes later, she apologized to our guests with a descriptive explanation of how she was helping her husband use the restroom (luckily, I didn’t hear about it until later).

During the ceremony, I prayed that our minister would stick to the script, as the flower girl lay on the floor, complaining of boredom. My attention was then directed to a young girl, roaming around the altar, snapping pictures. On the verge of a breakdown, I forced my focus on my vows when the minister erupted into a sermon about the process of being damned into the fires of hell. With that went all hope of my perfect wedding.

The insanity soon ended, and we headed to our reception – without our minister. It was time to have fun. Amidst the jokes about her, floating around our guests, I admired the beautifully decorated reception hall, when I caught a glimpse of the large wall mirror behind the bridal party’s table that blatantly read “Got R Dun” Gasp! My occasion had become filled with surprises. I managed to laugh off the message and sat down for the wedding toasts, which were beautiful. Pulling myself together, I watched our guests rise from the tables for our meal, and at that moment, I realized that while my new husband’s family were clad in suits and dresses, many of mine were in Harley Davidson T-shirts, jeans, and boots, as if they had stopped in on a motorcycle ride. I told myself that there was no reason for the embarrassment I felt. They were good people no matter how they were dressed. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what my new in laws were thinking.

The reception continued, and we had finally reached a point where all seemed relatively normal again. That is until – you guessed it – the “shady ones” arrived. My aunt and uncle, though uninvited, had caught wind of the celebration and decided to make an appearance, scantily clad with him in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, and his wife in a mini skirt and glittered Playboy tank top. My perfect day had officially hit an all time low. Yet again, my determination to make an enjoyable day persevered, and our guests were having a great time, which somehow overrode all of the bad. Besides, I felt, at that point, that it couldn’t get much worse. I was quickly proven wrong. I was making my rounds when I saw the “shady ones”, who had previously divorced but would soon to be remarried, publicly making out at their table, as if no one else was even in the room. This occurrence was, of course, the new topic of discussion among our guests. I darted for the door for some air. I had to collect my thoughts and, somehow, my pride as well. My dream wedding had become one big joke, and I hung my head in shame.

Just then, my 5 year old son appeared. “Mommy”, he said, “how come you’re the only one not having any fun?” I peered into the hall, where our guests were all dancing and laughing, mingling and talking, and it hit me that he was right. No one seemed to care that we hadn’t had a flawless wedding. They were joyfully gathered in celebration of a new marriage and family, and I had been too overwhelmed with worries to enjoy it with them. I realized then that it didn’t matter what embarrassment had accompanied our wedding day. I had just married the man of my dreams, with all of our loved ones sharing it with us, and it was then that I knew, my wedding had been perfect all along.