I was in Disney for a college friend's wedding. I went with two other women who left their husbands at home so we
could have a girls' weekend. We all worked together scooping ice cream. Every day was a comedy show. I'm serious. If you've
ever wondered, "Who would ever choose Rum Raisin ice cream?" I saw them, daily. They look exactly like you think
they do. Also, you haven't seen anything if you haven't witnessed a frappe machine come to life and spew chocolate ice cream
and milk over a 5' parameter. It happened to my boss who wore all white every day. His scream was glass shattering. I wasn't
sure if I could continue working because I couldn't take an order without breaking down laughing every time I pictured it.
I still have a scooper arm that's stronger than the other one, years later. It probably wasn't the ideal job for me given
my ravenous appetite combined with zero self-control. Putting ice cream in front of me was like waving a steak to lions. May
be the reason I held onto my "baby fat" 10 years into adulthood. I digress.
we flew out together. I had the perfect dress for the occasion; I spent a fortune on a vintage dress from a boutique in the
North End. (Me and my dresses!) It was a 1950's classic cut with gorgeous lace overlaying a rich red satin. It fit me like
a glove. I always say if I could go back to anytime, it would be the 50s. I love the outfits.
wedding was beautiful, Disney really knows what it's doing. Everything was perfect, including the open bar. Maybe, especially
the open bar. The wedding was 10 years after we graduated college. In college, it was perfectly normal to consume alcohol
like water. Ten years later, not so much. My wine glass hit empty more times than I care to admit.
me rewind a second to tell you about the bridal shower. You must know that everyone tries to set me up with their son, nephew,
best friend, neighbor, business client, etc. The bridal shower was no different. My friend's favorite aunt thought I'd be
a great match for her son. I heard all about him. He sounded nice but, he lived in Arizona. Not an ideal location for me.
I didn't give him much thought. She said he was an Eagle Scout. That didn't persuade me…
to the bar. All the ladies hit the dance floor like it was 1976 (my new birth year.) I was a dancing queen channeling ABBA.
Then, it happened. The videographer was documenting the alcohol induced and estrogen heavy dance floor. I kicked up my heels
in a passionate samba and immediately landed on my face. The videographer zoomed in but my gal pals formed a ring of protective
fire around me to try and save me from a lifetime of embarrassment on blooper reels. My heel had caught the beautiful lace
of my very expensive dress. I'm not sure I would have been able to maintain my balance had I been sober so, I didn't feel
as bad. I popped up and kept dancing like a champ.
The debauchery continued to a club
next door. There was a 5' raised stage with barriers to let guests know the area was a no no. I remember seeing that and thinking,
"Nah. I belong on that stage." So, there I was, seconds later, shaking my groove thing on stage until I was ushered
off by security. Someone noticed my skillset and asked if I'd like to step outside for dance lessons. Can I just tell you?
It was the Eagle Scout. I let my friends know. Their response in unison, "Dance lessons?!?!" I gave them a quick
wave and headed out. Some of my favorite things to do is practice dancing and golf.
he changed his mind and thought it would be better to practice making out. On a bench in front of the door. I was down with
that, too. It's one of the other things I like to practice. We were there awhile. I think I was sitting on his lap when his
mom walked by. I'm pretty sure I saw her husband take her arm and say, "Keep walking." Everyone left so, we hopped
in a cab and headed back to my hotel.
If you've never been to Disney and you have
a poor sense of direction, don't stay at the resort hotels. They're one giant maze. He invited me back to his room. Fortunately,
I still had the good sense to decline. I think the bride's aunt would have killed me. So, like a gentleman, he dropped me
off out front and asked if I knew where I was going. I said, "Yup." Then, the cab drove away. I turned around holding
my heels and let my purse guide me to my room. As I zig zagged along the path, the sprinklers came on. It was refreshing.
How I made it back to the right room is beyond me. I can only imagine it was by the grace of God. And, my purse. I couldn't
find my way there sober.
I took my dress off quietly, hung it in the bathroom, and proceeded
to pass out. The next morning, I got up to use the restroom and saw my dress hanging there behind the door. Immediately, I
thought, "I must have been dreaming. I'm an excellent dancer. I couldn't have POSSIBLY done what I think I did."
Slowly, I lifted the dress to check the back. My heart sunk. There it was, a tear about a foot long down the center of the
back of my dress. I dropped my head into my hands.
When I walked out of the bathroom,
my friends were smiling and asked about my dance lessons. We all burst out laughing and crying until we could hardly breathe.
What a night! I was in rough shape though. We all were. The thought of getting on a plane in eight hours wasn't helping. I
had heard an old wives tale that a lemon wedge under the armpit was supposed to alleviate a hangover. I was on a mission to
find one. (No, it doesn't work. It may work if you have a mild hangover but, mine was heavy duty.)
worked out. I didn't throw up on the plane and I never saw the aunt or my Eagle Scout again. One of my favorite aunts is a
seamstress so, the dress is still wearable, thankfully. I can find the tear but no one else could. The couple is still married
with an adorable daughter and my friends and I reminisce about our epic adventure. I am still looking for a dance partner,