Thursday 23 November 2017

Just get me to the right church and wedding on time

"STOP whinging," said Maggie. "You'll have a great time."

"Huh," I muttered.

I was still muttering the next day as we left the house at 7am to drive to the wedding in Killarney, which my other half had led me to believe was at 12.30.

I was in a sulk because I knew none of the guests, my husband knew only the groom and the biggest day of the year was just around the corner. "Who gets married this close to Christmas?" I muttered as we drove through the Jack Lynch tunnel.

I asked him again on the Ballincollig bypass but he just ignored me.

I spotted the church as we approached the town and, as it was raining, made him park as close to the door as possible.

"What time is the wedding at?" I checked with the man making the DVD of the big day.

"One o'clock," he replied. I berated my other half for getting the time wrong and then, as we had time to spare, badgered him into walking into town and getting me a sandwich. I remained in the car nice and dry.

The DVD man cheerily filmed us when we arrived again and, inside, one of the groomsmen handed my husband the wedding missal. We sat on the groom's side where we could just about see the back of his head. After a couple of minutes, word spread that the bride had arrived outside. My husband casually turned the missal over in his hand and, suddenly, the colour drained from his face.


"Who the hell are Margaret and Donal?" he hissed.

I looked at the names on the missal. They weren't the same names that had been on the invitation. Luckily, there was no time for him to strangle me. We barrelled back down the aisle, almost flattening the bride (Margaret) as she entered the church. The DVD man was perplexed. "Where are you off to now?"

My husband explained how I had guided him to the wrong church and he directed us to the right one -- 10 miles away.

Arriving just as the priest was wrapping up the ceremony; we slipped in the back and pretended to have been there all along.

"That's nothing," said Maggie when I told her. "We once went to a funeral and put a wreath on the coffin. It was only when we sat down that we realised we were at the wrong funeral."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"We just sort of sidled up to the coffin and whipped it off again."

I relayed the wreath story to my spouse to give him a laugh but he didn't respond. You see, he's still not talking to me . . .

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