August 15th 1998.
It was a beautiful Saturday. The perfect day for my wedding. Everything was going as planned. The guys were ready to go to the ceremony site and I was dressed at my mom’s house awaiting the limo for pick up to go to the event I had planned since I was 5 years old.
I worked so hard on getting the wedding together, that my fiance, Scott kept telling everyone that there was no way that I would “leave him at the altar”. I knew he was already at the site since I had spoken to my brother who was with him and they were waiting for us girls to arrive.
Well, my brother’s cell phone was shut off after that conversation and since it was a Saturday the office of the ceremony site was closed so there was no way to call and let the men and the hundred plus guests know that we had just gotten a call from the limo service, that the driver was lost on the wrong side of town and had no idea how to get to us (lucky me, my wedding day and I get a new driver who moved to the area a week ago!).
Suddenly my confident fiance and a roomful of wedding guests started murmuring that the bride had gotten cold feet and would not be showing up! (Cold feet huh? In August in Florida?!? I don’t think so! I showed up dripping wet!). When we finally got to the ceremony, I saw Scott crying, since he was so happy to see that I didn’t change my mind about getting married!
The wedding started an hour and a half after it was supposed to, and it was more of a surprise than a romantic moment. I had envisioned myself the blushing bride walking down the candle lit aisle to my groom, and instead I raced into a brightly lit room (The didn’t want the candles to go to waste for an hour and a half) dripping wet from sweat and panting thanks to the Lord that Scott hadn’t given up and left.
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