In Search of...what else could possibly go wrong?

Back in May I went to the wedding of a friend of mine. I had been looking forward to it for some time, and when the day finally arrived, I joyfully began getting dressed for the occasion.

As I noticed the small hole in my Spanx, perhaps I should have taken it as an omen - oh, not for the bride and groom, but for how the rest of my evening was going to go.

After deciding that the hole was noticeable, I opted to change to regular pantyhose. I figured it was safer to forgo the five pounds thinner that the Spanx was going to make me look in favor of not having to worry about the hole manifesting into a bigger hole and eventually a run that I would have to deal with while at the wedding. Simple enough, right? So I dug out a plain old pair, and put them on - the operative word being "old." You see, if you let things with elastic in them hang out in your dresser drawer for a few too many years, then the elastic doesn't work anymore. "No time to worry about that," I said to myself. It'll be fine.

I finished dressing with no more incidences and left for the wedding. I was in my typical New York dress attire - black cocktail dress, black hose, and my favorite DSW black dress shoes with a rhinestone t-strap. I arrived at the wedding and headed to the chairs surrounding the gazebo where the ceremony was to take place. A few steps into my destination, I felt something go terribly wrong in the direction of my feet. The sole of my left shoe completely separated from the rest of the shoe, making it impossible for me to walk at all. Immediately my mind began racing with ways to remedy this calamity. Could I go home and get back in time for the wedding? No. Take off my shoes altogether? No. Could I hop on the one good shoe, limp, drag, or otherwise saunter? Nope, not an option. Oh, what to do. So the friend I drove with ran to find the bridal family and see if anyone had any ideas or possibly a shoe in a 9 Narrow. Not exactly an average size, to be sure. That's when my friend Anthony had the idea for a solution - the band.

You would think after schlepping my own roll of duct tape to enough gigs, I would have thought of that tidbit of brilliance. However, there was no band, but a DJ. So off to the music men I hobbled, where lo and behold, the roll of duct tape appeared in time to save the day for me. After taping my shoe together, I gingerly walked toward the chairs for the ceremony.
I noticed that many of the guests surrounding me looked like extras for the show Jersey Shore, which only served to make me and my taped together shoe feel, well, let's just say not brimming with confidence.

I survived the ceremony intact, and made my way to the cocktail hour, where I basically sat, too afraid to put my duct tape to the test. When it was time to go inside for the reception, I had the strange sensation that something was creeping down my thighs. It was the pantyhose with no elastic falling further and further with each step. I slapped my hands to my thighs, hoping to keep it from falling past the hem line of the dress until I could waddle to the ladies room to assess my options.

Under normal circumstances, this occurrence would have been cause for more than mild hysteria, but I was taking migraine medication, which left me with the unusual ability to go with the flow. After tucking the stretched out stockings as far as they could go into the girdle-like undergarment I had dug out to replace the Spanx, I walked back to the reception, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

The music started and I got up to dance. This was a risky move considering the precariousness of my clothing situation. But I couldn't just sit there all night. This was a celebration, for goodness sake! Besides, what else could possibly go wrong?

Well, I didn't have to look too much further for that when the evening was over and it was time to say our goodbyes. I'm a hugger...which is how my bracelet got caught on the grooms jacket. A slight moment of panic ensued as I tried to remove the bracelet and not tear the jacket in the process. I'm sure the bride had a moment, too, of justifiable bewilderment at the scene.

I got myself untangled and left as quickly as I could. By this time, the dancing had moved the sole of my shoe that the tape was still holding together. I made it home in time to relegate the shoes to history as well as the pantyhose. I made a mental note to never hug anyone while wearing that particular bracelet, and I thanked God that this disastrous evening belonged to me and not the bride and groom. Surely their life together would go more smoothly than my night at their wedding.

I marveled at my continuous, uncharacteristic calmness throughout obstacle after obstacle, and I made a mental note about buying some more duct tape. All in all, these seemed like valuable lessons to take away from a challenging evening.

Long life to the bride and groom. Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.