It is almost certainly true that every bride has a horror story from her wedding. “Horror story,” of course, is subjective in a bride’s mind because any interruption in her special day is considered a disaster. Pre-wedding madness and crazy behavior aside, brides consider their wedding day to be their 24 hours of entitled perfection. Considered a day where nothing should upset their senses, or destroy their pleasures, this theory is specifically why no one should ever plan an outdoor wedding in the spring.
A fall wedding was out of the question, because I watch a lot of football, and always complained when my favorite team was playing a big game and I summarily had to sit it out, thanks to attending a wedding. Winter, obviously, was never an option, and summer, well, is just too hot. So a beautiful spring wedding was in the works, and once I dodged all of the important religious holidays and Mother’s Day, I found myself drawn into a late-April wedding. It seemed perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, an outdoor venue was secured with plenty of tent space in case of rain, and what else could go wrong?
Nothing, if you are not an allergy sufferer. The morning of my beautifully planned wedding followed an extensive rain the week prior, with an unseasonal abundance of humidity to mark the occasion. Apparently, the outdoor venue that I chose was ripe with pollen-ridden plants, and included a beautiful spectacle of cottonwood from the trees. And by “beautiful” I mean disastrous. My entire wedding party, myself included, along with practically every guest and their plus-ones, were afflicted by the excess of allergic irritants floating about the ceremony.
As the ceremony proceeded, swollen faces, runny noses, watering eyes, and relentless sneezing echoed throughout the outdoor venue, with looks of apology pouring out as my eyes darted from my soon-to-be husband to those who were seated to witness our nuptials. I, too, was afflicted by the springtime fluency of nature, and held back wiping my eyes during the entire ceremony, which only led onlookers to believe I was overly emotional, when the truth was I was miserable with agitated allergies.
Since the ceremony and the reception were in the same place, eventually everyone became a victim of the circumstances, allowing handkerchiefs to become active from every pocket, scarcely replaced within at all. Guests, once they had enough of the irritation, started leaving in droves, apologizing for “not feeling well.” Those of us who stayed, because we had to, suffered relentlessly at the hands of Mother Nature. Luckily, with no guests around within an hour of the ceremony’s close, we were all able to go home, take some medication, and cry ourselves to sleep. Or was that just me?
