I owe you an end to my story of how I met my Carpenter. I’m grateful to those of you that have read along these past two weeks. The feedback has been fun. So let me close this chapter for you.
Here’s the Coles Notes version thus far: I was a bridesmaid. My future husband was my usher. My actual date showed up late to the wedding, intoxicated. I was furious. My usher decided to teach my date a lesson by planting the most romantic, sweep-me-off-my-feet kiss of a lifetime on me, right in front of him. Awkward. You’re caught up now.
The rest of the wedding I fulfilled the role of bridesmaid: posing for photos, greeting guests, helping the bride go to the washroom (ladies, you know the drill). My date and his pack of pals continued their celebrations while I sat at the head table next to my usher, who was a true gentleman and seriously funny. He led me to the dance floor for the first dance and I recall how natural it felt. Familiar.
Then came the unexpected. Think Cinderella ending, but like, if the princess was a bridesmaid, her date turned out to be a real pumpkin, the carriage was her father’s company truck, and the clock struck well before midnight, leaving the usher alone with no trace of his bridesmaid.
This is how it went down. My friend pulled me off the dance floor to tell me that my date and one of his buddies were intoxicated to the point of sickness (brace yourselves) – on each other. Classy, right? I had to get my date cleaned up and get him home. I was already embarrassed and didn’t want to bring more shame to a friend’s wedding day. While the party raged on with all my friends inside, I carried out a plan to escape without further embarrassment.
I had carpooled to the wedding, but I couldn’t ask anyone else to leave the party so early. We were too far away for a cab. Regrettably, I called my father, who was, as you can imagine, unimpressed with my date and my present life choices. He pulled up in his company truck, we poured my nearly passed out date into the back seat, and my father put the truck in reverse.
This is the big moment, guys. This is it. As our vehicle pulled away from the reception hall, the truck lights shone into the glass doors that ran the length of the building. Nobody was there because they were still dancing in the hall.
Then, all of a sudden, a young man in a grey suit and red bow tie barged out of the doors of the hall. He ran toward the front doors, losing his footing and sliding along the panes of glass until he could stop himself. He made a window with his hands to peer out into the darkness, standing there watching as we pulled away. He just stood there, watching me leave. Welp.
“Who is this joker?” my dad said laughing
My usher. My future husband.
Five months later, the Carpenter and I crossed paths again, this time both single. A first date quickly led to a second. That’s the night my father took him outside of the house, opened the garage door, pointed to the ladder, then pointed to my second-storey bedroom window and said, “Make it happen.”
And the rest, as they say, is history. True story. True love.
