My Bridesmaid Blunder Nearly Crashed the Wedding Party

How I survived a wedding wipeout, an off-limits offering, and a somewhat sloppy smooch

Natalia’s Wedding, 1999

We’ve all had ideas that sounded good at the time but didn’t pan out as well as we imagined. That’s what happened when I paired my skin-tight satin bridesmaid’s dress with mega-high heels.

It was my vain attempt to blend in with an exceptionally tall wedding party — comprised chiefly of cookie-cutter blonde, leggy sorority sisters.

I was none of those things. Not to mention the fact that my wedding date was 6'6".

In the end, it wasn’t my petite stature and burgundy brunette-dyed hair that made me stand out like a sore thumb. It was a set of blunders that qualified me as one of the worst bridesmaids of all time!

Catch me I’m Falling

The wedding planner nervously shuffled us around in an attempt to get the bridal processional queued up. I could tell she wasn’t sure where to put me, the odd girl out. First? Last? Obscured behind an oversized floral arrangement?

That’s when I made an ill-fated misstep, and my high heel completely broke off the shoe’s base!

I promptly fell on my butt, then went heel (now singular) over head faster than a satin-covered Slinky™, down the slick stone steps in front of the old church. Gasps of horror followed as I bounced through the bridal party and landed unceremoniously, like an untimely wedding gift, right at the bride’s feet.

Peeling my face off the sunbaked pavement, I wished to go crawl under a rock. It seemed everyone and their brother was gawking at me where I lay — among the bobby pins, baby’s breath, and a broken-off 5-inch heel that marked the path of my unfortunate descent.

“Oh my God, are you OK?”

Gaped the bride. Her tone was somewhere between utter panic and feigning concern for someone other than herself.

“I’m good!” I panted, struggling to stand on one heel as my other leg dangled helplessly.

I smiled weakly and smoothed my rumpled dress.

Natalia’s eyes narrowed, then widened, incredulous. My previously breezy friend had been usurped as of late by a persona we referred to as “Bridezilla.”

Dumbstruck, her false lashes batted furiously, but she didn’t comment. No matter, since I could pretty much read her mind:

Heather! WTF, are you kidding me?!? You’d better not ruin my *perfect* wedding day!

Her tightly corseted, heaving bosom alerted me that a meltdown was imminent. I needed to act quickly.

“Natalia! I’ll fix this; I’ll catch up. You — you just go ahead and get married.”

The bride moved on in a whirl of hoop skirts and crinoline. She was now anchored on each side by attendants who, scared straight, sure as hell wouldn’t let her slip on those treacherous stone steps.

I was left to hobble and attempt to cobble a solution together in the parking lot.

“Rough day?”

The black-sheep punk-ass younger brother of the groom was addressing me, extending a pungently packed pipe towards my face.

Both bride and groom had forewarned me that “F-ckin’ Stuart” was coming into town for the wedding and not to associate with him under any circumstances.

(one week earlier)

“Oh, and he’s gonna like you. He’ll probably try to hit on you.” Natalia admonished me. “Walk away. Just. Walk. A. Way.”

Deadpan, I held up my right hand.

“I solemnly swear not to talk to F-ckin’ Stuart. I will walk away.”

“Um, no thanks, I can’t,” I told F-ckin’ Stuart, recalling my vow. “People have to, like, get married right now, you know?”

My sarcasm didn’t seem to phase him. Annoyingly, he stood there smirking, having borne witness to my nearly catastrophic blunder on the stairs.

Flustered, I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. I couldn’t ‘walk away. I needed to procure wedding shoes (heck, any shoes that wouldn’t cause a nuptial 911) from whatever I had in my cluttered trunk!

“Relaaax,” drawled F’n Stu’. “Nothing’s happening for another 10 minutes at least.”

Punk-ass gestured his pipe towards the bushes, where his brother, the groom, was puking his guts out.

“Wedding day nerves, you know?”

Suddenly, I eyed off-limits Stu and his offering with curiosity. I glanced around the lot: no one but the groom, who was obviously indisposed.

“Nerves? Yeah, I get it, man.”

But I didn’t inhale

Or, I did. Can’t remember. I also couldn’t recall the day of the week or my last name 15 minutes later. That’s when I found myself standing in front of a church congregation in some ratty flip-flops I’d scavenged out of my trunk.

Fortunately, now my dress was 5 inches too long, so no one could see my feet under the piles of satin spilling over my toes.

Ouch! The bridesmaid next to me was jabbing me with the stem end of her bouquet.

“Sit down,” she quietly hissed without moving her lips.

Oh, right. Full Catholic mass. I had been to the rehearsal but, as a non-Catholic, was still clueless about when to stand up, sit down, or fight-fight-fight. Apparently, I performed better as a high school cheerleader than a bridesmaid.

Through the haze, I saw people making the sign of the cross. Yes, I thought, this is good. Pray for me that I won’t mess up anymore today!

Footloose

My wedding date, Rob’s eyes met mine as vows were exchanged. He shook his head slowly, smiling, then covered his face in an “I can’t look” gesture.

We were best friends, and he knew something was up with me. But he didn’t judge.

My heart swelled a little, grateful.

Later, as one buzz wore off, another set in with multiple champagne toasts at the wedding reception.

The fizzy debauchery seemed to smooth things over with Natalia, who was now laughing hysterically and smooshing cake in the groom’s rosy pink rather than green-around-the-gills face.

At the night’s end, Rob and I greeted her, and she thanked us for coming with a big hug. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Bridezilla had either forgotten or forgiven my wedding wipeout. Also, she’d left her heels behind on the dance floor and lost a few bobby pins doing the Electric Slide.

We were practically *perfect* twins!

Oops, I did it again

Rob, always my watchdog, drove me home since I was clearly exhausted and over the limit. He was such a good friend, and as such, there were rules. Number one being, you don’t kiss your best guy friend.

When we got to my driveway, I leaned over the console to hug him goodbye and sort of collapsed into his face.

Before I knew it, we exchanged a kiss, then two, then wait, STOP. Something wasn’t right.

We had smooched on a dare once years before and made a pact that it wouldn’t happen again. The chemistry wasn’t quite there, and we didn’t want to ruin the friendship.

But we all have our days, and sometimes you just want to be close to someone you’re very comfortable with. Rob took it on the chin with a grin.

Always the gentleman, he exited the car and came around to open my door for me. Then he walked me to my front porch, ensuring I didn’t trip on my over-long dress.

I almost went 3 for 3 with some bad blunders, but Rob and a pair of old flip-flops saved the day before I could wreak any more havoc.

Now, older and wiser, I wear low heels or flats to weddings and take chamomile tea to soothe any prenuptial jitters. What’s your craziest wedding story?