Sweaty Vows
The forecast had not changed. The high in Chicago on this July day was going to be 105 degrees with 90% humidity.
I quickly dropped the air conditioning down to 62 degrees. My husband, Step- Father of the Bride, complained. I did a “tell it to the hand” gesture and he walked away grumbling about money. I was determined to not have a melting bride and her three sister bridesmaids with sweat stains on their satin dresses as they prepared for the wedding.
The doorbell rang and I ran to answer it, forgetting I just in my bras and pantyhose. The photographer merely glanced at me and said nothing. She must be accustomed to sights like this.
I had no time to feel embarrassed. My sister was calling. “You did remember the church is not airconditioned?”
I did not.
Minutes later, having remembered to put on street clothes, I was in Walgreens. I loaded a cart with two Styrofoam chests, four bags of ice, and three dozen bottles of water. Passing the toy aisle, I remembered there would be a few kids at the reception. I grabbed some toys, games, coloring books and crayons. At the checkout, there were personal fans on display. I took all there were on the shelf.
Walking in the front door, sweat dripping from places that rarely sweat, I hear the bride and her sisters upstairs alternating between giggles and accusations: “You can’t do that. You’re stepping on my dress. Quit hogging the blush.” I smiled as this brought back so many memories of their childhood, so many times I had to intervene. This time I wouldn’t. Things would be different now that one of them is starting her new life.
The doorbell rang and I open it to find my ex, the father of these young women. His tie was crooked, and I reached out to fix it. One would think I was about to tase him as he jumped back, bumping into my husband. Luckily, the bride was coming down the stairs and our focus shifted to the beautiful young woman.
Walking out to the car I quickly regretted my choice of a black, full-length, long-sleeved dress. My husband again questioned why wool tuxedos were chosen.
We had filled the ice chests and stood just inside the church to hand out the bottles of water to everyone and the portable fans to the older women. I couldn’t believe their grandfather, who had just come from dialysis was there, being helped up the stairs. He didn’t look well. I worried that I’d be calling 911 during the ceremony.
I heard the bride calling out to me from the brides’ room. She was quite upset. Her flower girl’s car had over heated, and she wouldn’t make it to the ceremony. I was beginning to fear what else might go wrong.
In my sweat soaked dress with makeup streaking down my face, I was escorted to the first pew. Minutes later, the bride, flanked on each side by her father and stepfather came down the aisle.
As the ceremony began, I turned on my personal fan. After less than a minute, the plastic blades flew off and hit one of the bridesmaids.
When the ceremony was over, we all waited for the newlyweds to come out of the church. The grandfather who had dialysis needed three men to get him down the stairs. Some of the guests were overzealous in their rice throwing. Much of the rice pelted not only the couple, but many of the other guests. All the usual pictures were taken. Today I have a picture on my mantle of the bride and groom, both with sweat glistening on their faces.
The reception hall was blissfully cool when we arrived. I had called the manager and told him under no circumstance was he to adjust the air conditioning regardless of who complained. I already knew who would make such a request.
Once the dinner began it was time for the toasts. My husband went first. He spoke for over ten minutes. People were yawning, fidgeting with their silverware, and picking at their salads. Near the end of his speech, he mentioned how the bride and groom had been living together. This was not sitting well with the holy rollers in the room. I wanted to crawl under the table.
I performed the typical mother of the bride duties, going from table to table to thank those who had come.
It was finally time for the dancing. The father-daughter dance is always a bit tense when there are two significant men in the bride’s life. The bride’s solution was to have her father begin dancing with her to Celine Dion’s “I Will Always Love You” and have her stepdad cut in halfway through.
Next, I danced with my husband. And then, just to aggravate my ex, I approached him and, rather than ask him to dance, I asked his wife for permission.
When we reached the dance floor there was a fast oldie, “no need for contact” playing. But it quickly ended, and a slow song began. Remembering how my ex flinched when I attempted to fix his tie and feeling the effects of a bit too much vodka, I saw this as an opportunity, to get to him again. He began to sweat profusely as he looked over to his wife who could be best described as “shooting daggers” in our direction. My husband didn’t look pleased either.
The celebration ended with “It’s a Wonderful World” playing. I had to remember under which table I had left my shoes. I also gathered my other daughters, the bridesmaids, and told them that under no circumstances will they have their weddings in Summer.
The bride asked my husband and I to take her and the groom to their hotel. I was surprised when the bride asked me to come to their room and help her get out of her dress. I had assumed this would be the groom’s job. But I did what she asked. We laughed as we literally needed to peel the dress from her sweaty body and to remove about a cup of rice stuck to her skin.
It was time to leave and let them begin their new life together. When I reached the door, I looked back to see sadness in my daughter’s face. I knew what we were both thinking; that our relationship had changed that day. And I wondered just what that relationship would be.
