Two for Tuesday: Wedding Wipeouts & Catastrophes

Today we offer my blog fans a bonus - “Two for Tuesday” because this is actually two tales on the same subject: Weddings. All true. All SO me - so buckle up and I’ll take you for the ride!

The Wedding Split

I was about 18 years old, dating a guy whose family had a wedding coming up. I borrowed a cream-colored dress from a friend - very classy, very “I’m here to behave,” which was a lie -because I never behave! I waited until the night before to shop for shoes. Because back then, I was unofficially known as “Last-Minute Tilly,” patron saint of procrastination and panic purchases.

I’m window-shopping near home when I spot the pair: 3” heels, strappy, sexy, and a sultry brownish red that screamed “I’m not related to the bride.” I go to open the door - locked. Inside, employees are preparing to close up. I knock. They shout, “Sorry, we’re closed!” I shout back, “Please! I know what I want, I need a size 7, and I have a wedding tomorrow!” They look at each other like I just asked for a kidney. I press my hands together like I’m praying to the Shoe Gods. They cave.

I point to the heels. They insist I try them on. I do. They fit like Cinderella’s glass slipper - if Cinderella had a flair for drama and a tendency to trip over her own feet. I buy them and strut out victorious.

Next day, I get dressed, get picked up, and off we go. At the wedding, I have a few drinks (obviously) and decide to hit the dance floor. That’s when the shoes - those traitorous stilettos - decide to audition for Cirque du So-Lame. One leg goes east, the other west, and I do a full-on split. Not a cute little dip. A full, Olympic-level, floor-hugging SPLIT.

But I think fast. I spring up like a caffeinated jack-in-the-box. People nearby start clapping. They think I meant to do it. I smile like it was planned! I Threw in a few extra steps for flair and exit the dance floor like a bat out of hell. I didn’t dance again that night unless it was a slow one - with my boyfriend as my human safety rail.

The Wedding Date Fiasco

Another time, another wedding. This one was for my best friend - we’ll call him “Jim.” I was married to my first husband (we’ll call him “Scott”), and we had an 18-month-old baby. When the invite came, Scott said, “Take your brother Tommy. I’ll stay home with the baby.” Great plan!

I prepped for over a month. I was older now, mid-twenties, and slightly more mature than the wedding prior. I had the card, the cash, the dress, the shoes, the matching purse. I even added non-skid pads to the bottom of my shoes to ensure I didn’t take off like a greased pig at a county fair.

Tommy borrowed a suit and shoes from my mom’s friend - same size, same “please don’t make me wear this” face. We looked fantastic. We walked to the venue, pulled the door handle… locked! What is it with all these locked doors?

 We peeked through the window. Inside: black and white balloons, pretty table decor, white tablecloths. But no people. No music. No bride. No groom.

I pull out the invitation. We’re on time. I call Jim.

“Hey, we’re at your wedding venue but no one’s here - what happened?”

He says, “Michele… the wedding was yesterday.”

Mic drop.

I apologize profusely. He laughs (of course he does) - he’s known me long enough to expect a full Michele moment. After the call, Tommy looks at me and says, “Well, I guess we’re all dressed up with no place to go.”

I turn to him and say, “Then we’ll find a place to go.” He raises an eyebrow. I say, “C’mon - I have an idea.” He replied, “Your ideas are often scary - but I’m in!”

We walk several blocks, and I surprise him with Beefsteak Charlies, the local steakhouse known for all-you-can-eat shrimp and all-you-can-drink beer, wine, or sangria. We order big steaks with all the trimmings, eat shrimp like we’re a couple of hungry whales who just crashed a crustacean convention, and drink pitchers of wine and beer like we were Viking pirates celebrating a raid. 🍻

We left there like two bloated parade floats trying to beat the wind. Before we got back to my house, I asked Tommy to make a pact: never speak of my wedding date mix-up again. He laughed and agreed. We never even told my first husband. He thinks we enjoyed the wedding.

Moral of the Story?

Always check the date. Always test the shoes. And always have a backup plan involving good food.

 

Forks & Fiascos™ Meter Rating: Wedding Edition

Category The Wedding Split The Wedding Date Fiasco Fiasco Factor 8.5/10 – Surprise split in heels mid-dance? That’s a certified fiasco recovered with flair. 9/10 – Showing up a day late to a wedding you prepped for a month? Legendary mix-up. Forks of Fate 7/10 – The shoes betrayed you, but the crowd thought you were a dance prodigy. 8/10 – Tommy suited up, the venue was dressed, and Beefsteak Charlies became the unexpected hero. Humor Quotient 8/10 – Slippery stilettos and accidental applause? Comedy gold. 9.5/10 – From “greased pig” heels to shrimp-devouring Vikings, this one’s a laugh riot. Emotional Whiplash 6/10 – From panic to pride in 3 second’s flat. 7/10 – Embarrassment turned into a bonding feast with your brother. Classic Michele Moment™ 10/10 – Last-minute shopping, dramatic recovery, and a smile that sells it. 10/10 – Calendar chaos, improvised steakhouse redemption, and a pact of silence. Peak Michele. Overall Dispatch Rating: 9.2/10 – A Double Dose of Delightful Disaster