Okay, so before the wedding was the rehearsal and the affiliated dinner. I have pictures of the rehearsal itself, but like zero of them don’t contain Slappy (by the way, you’re going to be seeing a lot of pictures of just me, and it’s not because I’m crazy conceited, it’s because my husband does not wish to be pictured at all. Ever. It’s like he thinks if a prospective patient saw a picture of him being an idiot they might not want to send their kid to his practice. Paranoid.), so I can’t really show you much from that. Not to mention that like none of them are any good. But I do have pictures from the dinner, so here we go.
The rehearsal was slated to begin at 4. Of couse, 75% of those expected at the rehearsal weren’t there until about 15 minutes past then, and by the time we began the rehearsal at like 4:25, almost none of them were sober, including my husband who ordered a shot of tequila after dealing with his mother for 10 minutes. My father practiced walking me down the aisle with a bloody mary in the arm he wasn’t using to walk me. Classy.
Slappy’s sister made cards with directions for everyone to get to the dinner. To be honest, the place was like 5 minutes away and when I first saw the directions I commented that they were a little weird, but no one listened. Which was awesome like 10 minutes later when the same sister called to let us know that the directions were wrong and that we needed to track down my whole family who was getting lost in Orange County, so they could get back to the where they were supposed to be. It was fairly humorous because most of them had realized they were going the wrong direction, but they didn’t know how to get there, even though it was literally right next door to their hotel.
Meanwhile, Slappy and I realized that we had forgotten the only important presents for the rehearsal (the ones for the children who are too young to wait an extra day when they’ve been promised presents), so we had to go to his sister’s house, open a window, climb through it and take the presents. Yea, we definitely did not look like burglers or anything. But we did make it, albeit about 15 minutes later than everyone else, to our own party. I believe that’s called fashionably late. Or slightly rude. Not that our absence prevented anyone from starting with cocktail hour.
The restaurant was a small French place with cute little details all around. Our photographer was there (it’s a long story), which means I now have some pictures to share, honestly, mostly of scenery, but hey, it’s better than nothing, right?
(Had to remove the first picture- it had too much personal information that I didn’t notice until I read through it again!)
We enjoyed cocktail hour outside on the patio and then had a lovely dinner inside. There were several toasts made, my father cried, which was awesome and we just ate, drank and were merry. It ended up being a much nicer experience than I had anticipated and while it was exhausting to sit at a table with everyone’s parents, it actually ended up being easy and natural conversation.
I only have 2 pictures of me that I can share (read: that don’t contain Slappy), but I figured any were better than the staph pictures of a few weeks ago (let’s pretend like this is the first time you’ve seen me, these are much nicer). So enjoy.
Next up, the bachelor/bachelorette parties.