One wedding, so many disasters - Kevin Page

The Pages' attendance at a wedding was fraught with challenges. Photo / 123rf

OPINION

This last weekend Mrs P and I attended the wedding of the daughter of our good friends.

We missed the wedding of their son because of the Hawke’s Bay cyclone so, this time around, the wedding was in Whakatāne and we promised to be there no matter what.

The plan was to meet up with the Boomerang Child, Builder Boy and their two sprogs at an Airbnb not far from the country venue and travel to it together.

Now for anybody who has been to an important wedding like this, you will know getting the clothes just right is vital. So we had to have a trial try-on at home.

Apparently, there are complete strangers and hospitality staff to impress at weddings. One is not permitted to look like, and I quote, “a scruffy bloke who looks like he’s spent a week in the bush”.

Anyway, a razor was located and the scruffy bloke disappeared into the rear of the bathroom mirror to be replaced by a devilishly handsome bloke in a smart shirt, neatly pressed trousers and shiny black shoes. Come to think of it he looked a lot like your favourite newspaper columnist. Ahem.

Mrs P naturally looked a million dollars, right from the base layer forward, which is kind of appropriate because I think the outfit might have cost that much.

I was left wondering what had happened to her recent conversion to the world of op-shopping and commented thus before she added a pre-loved jacket and hat which, quite frankly, altered her entire appearance.

That was when I made a big mistake. I opened my mouth and said the additions had taken the outfit and her appearance from one of “elegance” to “farm girl”.

I can sense all you guys cringing as you read this. I know. What was I thinking, right? Well, obviously I wasn’t. And it made for a very frosty drive to the wedding town.

That’s when my second mistake came to the fore. Luckily it took my passenger’s mind off my first error.

I didn’t bother to check the traffic route beforehand and as we drove into town we discovered some streets were closed for the annual Santa Parade. Never mind, I reasoned, I’d take the back streets.

Some time later I was still driving around those very back streets looking for a solution. Apparently, there were two rather large funerals on that day and police had been involved with the planning. To ensure things didn’t get out of hand, they had closed the direct road to our planned destination.

This meant an extra one-hour drive round the long way.

Groan. So now we are running late.

Eventually, we make it to our location where we find absolute chaos reigning supreme.

The kids are struggling to corral Miss Two And A Half and Master Eight Months without the help of the grandparents who had promised to be there in good time.

So now it’s all hands to the pump as the clock ticks on and we all realise we’re late and in danger of missing the start of the ceremony.

Naturally, I’m sorted and dressed first but, as the girls are upstairs doing their faces, Builder Boy’s attempts to get ready are thwarted by the arrival of a young lady who has wandered into the premises trying to sell internet packages.

As he waits for a break in her sales pitch, so as to politely usher her back out the way she came in, I’m looking after Master Eight Months who is gurgling away, completely naked on a rug on the floor, waiting for a change of nappy.

It was about then things got even worse.

Master Eight Months exploded.

I heard it before I saw it. And the wee cherub suddenly gave a cheeky grin as if to say “I’m gonna make you late for the wedding”.

Let’s just say to go into great detail about exactly what happened would put you off your breakfast, but “it” went everywhere.

Of course, Granddad did his best to resolve the crisis by running outside and yelling for Daddy - still trying to shake off a persistent visitor - while holding Master Eight Months at arm’s length and hoping nothing colourful and smelly fell on to his shoes.

The look on the visitor’s face immediately told me she was not a fan of babies and she fled as Daddy grabbed his son while trying not to get any “paint” on himself.

And into the middle of this, I kid you not, two glamorous ladies came downstairs, dressed to the nines, completely oblivious to what had been going on.

The next half hour, as we got later and later for the nuptials, was a bit of a blur.

Somehow, the baby and the floor were cleaned up and Builder Boy got ready.

I’ll gloss over this bit quickly because it happened so fast.

The baby drama sorted, he raced upstairs to put on his suit. Unfortunately, it was only then he realised he’d not packed it.

As the Boomerang Child quietly simmered in the corner, the ashen-faced Builder Boy went for one last look in the car. He emerged not five minutes later with a suit.

Get this. The neighbour had been at the garden fence and Builder Boy, obviously looking panicked, had quickly relayed his predicament. In a flash, the neighbour had handed over his own suit to borrow. Right size. Nice colour. Problem solved.

So now we’re all sorted but horrendously late as we pile into our two separate vehicles and head out to the country venue.

We make it with 10 minutes to spare and, with me leading the way, tear off up the long, long gravel driveway.

Five minutes later we skid into the carpark, hurriedly dismount and run inside as quick as we can.

Through the cloud of settling dust behind me, I see the following car with the rest of our little family unit pull in. Great. They made it too.

I let out a deep breath as we finally make it to our seats with literally minutes to spare. And then Mrs P grabs my arm with a grip that suggests something dramatic has occurred.

As I look back over my shoulder I see Boomerang Child, Builder Boy and the two kids coming through the door, their wedding clobber looking, well, somewhat dishevelled.

They look like they’ve been caught in a sandstorm, particularly Builder Boy whose borrowed suit jacket is a particularly lighter shade than the darker one it started the journey as.

It turns out he’d hung it up at the rear side window of the car but hadn’t realised he’d forgotten to close it. Then they’d driven through my dust trail.

The faces of Mrs P and the Boomerang Child suggested Builder Boy and I were in big trouble.

First time I’ve felt like crying before a wedding ceremony started.