I Tried To Be a Graceful Wedding Crasher

How I became an unintentional wedding crasher

My phone chirped and I frantically picked it up, nearly dropping it. It was my boyfriend at the time, texting me some details about a family wedding he invited me to. We hadn’t been dating long and were navigating the obstacles of living in different states. It would also be the first time I would meet his entire family. I was nervous and excited.

I was also 29 and unemployed — a fine specimen to show off to your extended family. I had roughly $34 to my name and needed a dress, shoes, and accessories. My boyfriend was generously taking care of my flight and other expenses along the way. He was 32 and had a normal-person job, so in my mind he was basically a far more handsome Jeff Bezos.

I scrounged around in my closet and found an old dress that wouldn’t lead people to assume my name was “Kitty,” borrowed the least strippery shoes from my roommate, and called it a day.

I arrived in Atlanta on a Friday evening and we had a low-key dinner during which he prepped me for the cast of characters I would meet the next day. I studied the names as if prepping for a final exam in college, but with more focus and less Adderall.

The next day as we were getting dressed for his cousin’s nuptials, I made an unfortunate discovery. I hadn’t packed the right bra for the dress — and it wasn’t a bra-optional situation. I panicked. We had only been dating for a few months, so this felt especially awkward.

We made a pitstop at Nordstrom on our way to the ceremony. I ran around the lingerie department like an escaped convict looking for a sewage drain. I shimmied in and out of 20 different options, when finally a salesperson approached me with a strapless bra and 20 safety pins.

“Hold still,” she commanded as she tugged at the straps of the dress and made 30 adjustments with her pins like a wizard. I handed her a credit card and held my breath hoping it wouldn’t be declined. Not exactly a Pretty Woman moment. Miraculously, my card went through and we were in business.

With my dress now permanently affixed to my body, we made our way through the cluttered streets of Atlanta to the wedding venue. We managed to arrive on time, which was slightly disappointing. It was a Catholic ceremony, so it took approximately 63 hours and I was confused during most of it. Overall it was lovely —at least the parts I was awake for.

Next came the cocktail reception, which is my favorite part of a wedding. There are no awkward speeches and you can eat, drink, and hide as you please. Sadly there was no hiding for me as I was paraded around to dozens of relatives like a poodle at The Westminster Dog Show.

Everyone I met seemed genuinely excited to meet me. I was killing it and my boobs were safe and secure in my new strapless bra, giving me the freedom to use as many animated hand gestures as I pleased. After an hour of meet and greets, it was time to make our way into the banquet hall for the dinner and awkward speech portion of the show.

When we got to our table, we shuffled around trying to figure out where I was supposed to sit — for there was no place setting for me or name card. There wasn’t even a seat. My then boyfriend pulled a chair from the table where all the outcasts were sent and squeezed me in next to him and his brother’s wife. The confusion set in when the food came out.

“Hey — did you RSVP for two?” I whisper yelled into his ear as the staff scrambled to see if there was any extra chicken lying around.

He looked down at his plate, then at me. “Yes! I think so,” he said, sounding as sure as Trump on trial being questioned about hush money and strippers.

“Oh my God, you didn’t add a plus one!” I exclaimed, now feeling extremely awkward as an unintentional wedding crasher.

“Well, there wasn’t an option for a plus one, but I emailed my cousin and he said it was no problem!” He explained, in-between bites of wilted salad.

“Do you think he relayed that info to his bride?” I pressed on.

“I assumed so.” He shrugged his shoulders as if this was just a little snafu and not a major social faux-pas.

I drained my glass of champagne before the toasts began and asked for more. My boyfriend pretended everything was fine — and then I noticed the bride and groom doing that thing they do at weddings — making the rounds.

Fantastic! I couldn’t wait to meet the folks whose wedding I was crashing.

When they came to our table I contemplated diving under it and pretending to look for a shoe or heroine. My boyfriend hugged the bride and groom and then gestured towards me. I stood up and got an enthusiastic “welcome to the family” hug from the groom. The bride, however, looked at me with nothing but sheer confusion. I told her how beautiful she looked and how stunning her dress was — which quickly made her forget that I was Owen Wilson.

Once they moved on, I was reunited with my champagne and tried my hardest to forget that I wasn’t supposed to be there. Having to scrounge around for leftover rolls and salad made it challenging to forget.

With the generous help of bottomless champagne, I eventually got over it and listened to some goofy speeches, and then cut loose on the dance floor — very intentionally far away from the bride and groom.

It was my one and only time crashing a wedding so far and I’m not opposed to doing it again. The next time, I just want to be armed with the knowledge ahead of time. I’ll even bring a strapless bra.

Useful life tip: when you don’t see an option on a wedding invite for a plus one — that doesn’t mean bring a date anyway.

This boyfriend is now my husband and you better believe I scrutinize every wedding invite we get.