“Lil Fatty’s gone!”
I looked over at my panicked bridesmaid, then at the slightly ajar door where my toddler no longer stood.
“But the music hasn’t even started,” I cried.
The music started.
“Shit,” I muttered, not a word I’d expected to use on my wedding day. “Just stick to the plan. Send in page boy number two.”
I looked down at my three-year-old nephew.
For weeks he’d been told his ‘very important job’ at his Aunty Ali’s wedding was to hold Lil Fatty’s hand while walking down the aisle.
Now he looked at his father, confused and slightly terrified.
Unperturbed, my brother shoved his son through the door, then hurried off out the back so he could slip into the hall and see him arrive from the other end.
I took a deep breath.
Ok so that had happened.
It was our turn.
“Um Ali, the door’s locked!”
One of my bridesmaids was desperately pulling at the door through which my nephew had gone.
It had locked behind him.
I looked at my bridesmaids.
Four pairs of beautifully made-up eyes stared back at me.
They had nothin’.
Wasn’t the purpose of bridesmaids to solve problems like this?
I looked at my dad, standing next to me.
He looked back at me anxiously, as if to say ‘Are we up now Ali Cat?’
I’d been to that many weddings and seen the visions in white hovering in distant doorways, ready to make their appearance.
Was this what it was actually like?
Panic and confusion?
I didn’t have my problem-solving hat on.
Just my veil.
The photographer’s assistant came to my rescue.
“I’ll go around and get them to unlock the door,” she said.
“Please,” I answered, starting to focus. “And let’s bring the boys back and re-start the music.”
‘We’ll just start again,’ I thought to myself.
My son and nephew reappeared, the former screaming, the latter still confused.
“Sssshhhh,” I whispered desperately, for I could hear the faint strains of our song.
It was in full swing.
We’d missed our cues.
We waited an eternity for it to stop – again.
Our guests had heard it twice now.
My nearly hubby knew the song, he knew the cues.
He’s sprung tears when Lil Fatty had made his first appearance but now they’d dried up.
With no bride in sight, Learner Dad had begun to panic.
But we eventually got it right and, by the time my turn came, it was all but forgotten (until we hit Waikiki for our honeymoon and heard the song playing in every second tourist shop we entered).
So that was my wedding day.
Learner Dad did find tears for me.
He also sang me a song.
Master Nine danced solo to Gangnam Style – all five minutes of it – surrounded by dozens of gorgeous women in short floral dresses (a fact I’m sure he’ll appreciate even more watching the video back in later years).
As for Lil Fatty, his premature stroll down the aisle was his unraveling.
The second trip ruined him, left him screaming the Town Hall down until my poor nominated brother-in-law carted his indignant butt right out of there.
But his protests fell on deaf ears.
Because his mum and dad got married anyway.
“Lil Fatty’s gone!”