"Are you ready Hun'?" My mother whispered, with a bright grin spread on her face, while slipping on my favorite and luckiest silver bracelet on my bare wrist.
Hell to Yea! I mean, damn, I was getting hitched!
I nodded excitedly in response to her question.
I suppose for some brides a more common or at least, logical reaction to getting married is extreme anxiety and nervousness.
Lies. It's all in the movies…just kidding. It does happen, just…not in my case.
I was wonderfully and deliriously giddy with the idea of spending the remainder of my life with someone I truly cherish, someone I love and loves me back. If I had the chance, I'd marry him four or five times, but I suppose two times will have to suffice.
My family and I are of the Nigerian culture, and Kyle, my future hubby, and his family are Caucasian. To satisfy both families, we were having two marriages, one a Traditional marriage and the other a Nigerian marriage.
My whole body grew warm with my contained happiness.
Or maybe it was just body heat. Or gas. Or both.
Regardless, I let out a long shrilly squeal and performed a little happy jig. A couple women, who were accompanying me in the small and cramped dressing room to make last minute touches to the dress, chuckled heartily at my antics.
But who cared if weird old women were laughing at me?
I was getting married!
I looked at myself once more in the mirror. My usually course black hair was permed, shiny and soft in one lovely bun with loose curls framing my face. Light make up covered my face. Even my skin was shiner then usual, at that moment; it glowed in its golden brown color. My dress was what I could only describe as the most hideous piece of clothing ever produced by human hands. Whoever designed it should have their hands cut off to prevent more catastrophes like it.
It was a pure white (Yes I'll proudly state I was a virgin.) long sleeved off the shoulder dress, which was ridiculous for July. The bodice had lace in the oddest places, the sleeves were poofy at the top then narrowed out at the ends, the skirt part was itchy and also poofy, and lastly it showed way to much cleavage, especially for my boobage. Basically it was a slutty-ish old lady's dress. Auntie Dapo had picked it out, and I didn't have the heart to refuse it.
I have a stupid little soft spot for family.
Besides I was only going to wear the dress for one day anyway.
"Okay Yemisi, the rest of us are going to the church to make sure everything is perfect. Alright, omo mi?" My mom said with a small joyous smile. I nodded and walked (more like waddled) with a smile of my own, my entourage following me out of the air-conditioned building.
Soon I was standing in front of the building, waving bye to my mother and the other women as they sped away in their various vehicles. Leaving me all by my lonesome in the 'burn your eyeballs out of your sockets' blazing sun waiting for the limo that was supposedly coming lickety-split.
Fifty-two minutes. I was already drenched in sweat. Great, now Kyle was going to have a bad-smelling bride.
How did I know that I wasn't just hallucinating about how time was flying by? Against my mother's wishes (demands), I strapped my lime green watch on my wrist before she could see it, which is quite a feat, because the thing was stupendously bright.
What? I like to know the time.
I had been waiting for a whole friggin' two hours. The service had most likely already started.
You know, I never trusted the damn limo driver for a second. He looked like a pothead. Extremely creepy-looking. Beady little eyes, greasy balding head, yellow crooked and cracked teeth, blood shot eyes, and he looked like he was high. I even voiced this thought to my mom and pops, they being the ones who hired the little turd.
"Nonsense, he's a splendid driver, and inexpensive too." They had said.
Please place snort here. Bloody cheapskates.
The freaky little dude was probably getting high in some alley.
Nonetheless, I looked for my cell phone.
Wedding dresses really should have pockets.
I realized, after a couple minutes of searching my person, my phone was just about good and dead in my auntie's devastatingly tacky purse. Why is it that the women in my family have terrible taste in fashion?
I took a deep calming breath. Okay, I thought, I'll just go back into the building.
Which was a problem.
That day was Sunday, the place closed early, specifically, an hour before. I turned back to the street. I could practically see tumbleweed roll around.
Nope, there definitely wasn't a soul coming.
I groaned loudly. There seemed only one choice if I was going to make it to the church at all, and I wasn't very fond of it.
I (with a bit of a struggle might I add) found a way to plant my rump onto the concrete floor. My dress was sure to have a butt shaped brown dust spot for sure. Did I care? Hell no. It might have been my wedding dress, but it was an U-G-L-Y wedding dress. Legs stretched out in front of me, I scooted the hem of my dress to my knees and slowly leaned over to slip off my shoes.
There was no way on God's lovely little green earth was I going to walk miles in high heeled shoes. Not only would I probably get blisters, but also I'd probably snap off my foot in the process. Not a very rosy thought. Holding one shoe in each hand, I hoisted myself onto my bare feet. I didn't want to think what kind of diseases I could be contacting from the rough concrete floor. Furrowing my eyebrows in concentration, I started to speed walk down the street. After about ten or fifteen minutes I found myself looking at a busy street, dozens of people in suits and in street clothes staring curiously at me.
It's not very polite to stare. At least if they were going to stare they could have done it more subtly.
Ignoring the holes being burned into my back and the faces staring in front of me, I frantically started to wave my shoe-clad hands for a taxi.
Surely some taxi driver will gladly drive me to the church from the kindness of his good heart. It happens in the movies, why can't it happen in real life?
Suddenly, I felt a sharp tug on my shoulder then an earsplitting ripping sound. Looking urgently at my shoulder, I found the poof ball that was sewn on it was cleanly ripped off. I rolled my eyes.
Lovely. The thing wasn't even durable.
Spinning around while muttering curses in Yoruba, I saw a rugged and dirty looking hobo looking wide-eyed at the white piece of cloth in his fist. Looking at me with a small almost unnoticeable sneer, he grumbled an apology.
I know he didn't in the least bit feel sorry for ripping my dress. I wasn't mad. In fact I was inwardly grinning like an idiot. This gave me a great excuse to get a new dress.
He gave me a solemn look. "Miss," he said in an incredibly deep voice, "I have no job, no money, and I'm starving. Can you please spare any money at all to me?"
My heart ached for him.
I have another stupid soft spot for the needy.
I truly felt horrible; I didn't have any money on me. Looking at him feeling sorry and guilty, for I had this expensive-ish wedding dress on and didn't even have a buck to give the poor guy.
"I'm sorry, I really don't have any money at all with me." I told him quietly.
Mr. Hobo glared at me viciously. My eyes widened at his sudden change in mood.
Goodness! What the heck?!
He was starting to yell at me. I just stared at him stupidly. The stuff that was coming out of his mouth was nasty.
No. Seriously, giant drops of spittle were spraying out of his mouth onto my face and dropping into his gray and nappy beard.
Gross. Now the little makeup on my face was probably melting off.
Calling me one last inappropriate word, he hurriedly turned around and stalked off to another part of the street my white poof ball sleeve thing still clutched in his hand. Hm. He was probably going to sell the material.
Great, now I was meeting psycho hobos. Imagine if he had a switchblade or something! Thinking about it, I probably would have fought back by chucking my shoes at him. Some people do not realize the mass destruction worth of a pair of high-heeled shoes.
I shook my head in pity with that thought in my head.
Realizing I hadn't got a cab yet, I brought myself back into focus and resumed my wild and hazardous waving of my arms and for the heck of it, I added shouting too. This time, a bright yellow cab immediately screeched to a halt in front of me. I grinned. My luck was finally changing.
Wrenching open the door, I gathered as much poof-skirt I could, (which wasn't very much) and shoved myself into the empty back seat.
"To Eternal Faith Church please!" I said hurriedly.
"That'll be $3.75." His gruff voice said, without even taking a glimpse back.
That was the time to take advantage of the kind-heartedness of human beings!
"Sir, please, I'm extremely late to my wedding!" I said as pitifully as I could.
He jerked his hand up and moved his rear view mirror so I could see him. "Lady, does it look like I care?" he said.
I blinked. Actually, it didn't.
"I've gone through a divorce where my ex-wife took all my money, my house, and my kids. I don't have a reason to like marriage." He continued, bitterness clear in his voice.
Geez. He definitely wasn't a happy camper.
"No money, no ride." He said coldly.
"But-!" I protested.
"GET OUT!" he roared.
Peeved, I did so, and returned to standing on the side of the road. Glaring at the driver with all my might as he sped away I shouted, "HATER! NO WONDER NO ONE WANTS TO MARRY YOU!"
Stupid enemy of love.
"Mommy, she's weird." A little boy's voice said behind me. I turned around at that and looked at the little boy. He's mother, who he was hold hands with, said in a hushed voice, "Dear, it's rude to stare."
I glared at the little boy, his mother should teach him some manners. Catching his attention with my intense glare I barred my teeth. The boy yelped and his mother gave me a slightly scared look and walked faster.
Heh. Teaches them.
I'm not usually that mean to children…I swear!
Waving my arms with a lot less zest, I managed to capture the attention of another cab driver in about five minutes. Pulling open the door, I popped my head in and gave cab driver, or at least the back of his head, an irritated look.
"Do you believe in love?" I asked him.
He turned his head startled at the question. A man, maybe in his forties stared at me curiously. "Yes?" he said a little wearily. I grinned brightly. Which scared the man even further.
"Please, I'm extremely late to my wedding." I told him an urgent look on my face.
"Sure." He said kindly.
I restore my faith in human beings!
"Thank you!" I squealed happily and again, gathered my skirts and jostled myself into the back seat.
"To Eternal Faith Church!" I yelled, giddily.
Taking off at an alarming speed, I half yelled as I got jerked back into the seat. At any other time, I pretty sure I would have been so scared I pissed my pants. In fact, I encouraged Mr. Driver Dude to pick up the pace. I smiled. From the blur of the streets I couldn't tell if we were almost there, nonetheless I was sure we were getting there.
Suddenly, I could feel the vehicle slow down.
"Wha!? What's going on?!" I asked, panicky.
Using the rear view mirror he gave me an apologetic look. "I'm out of gas." He said sorrowfully.
I and I looked upon the heavens, well really the roof of the car, and whimpered my little heart out. "Where's the divine intervention?!" I mumbled hotly.
I looked threw the smudged glass and saw that I wasn't far from the church at all, just a couple blocks to be exact.
I mentally danced. Speedily pushing the door open I said a thank you buttered in gratefulness to the driver and started to run down the street.
HOLEY CANOLY! It is almost impossible to run in a wedding dress.
About two blocks down the road I realized the only thing I was holding in my hands was the folds of my dress. I instantly halted. Triple damn. I had left my shoes. My nine hundred dollar shoes. Using one hand I slapped myself on the forehead. Right then, that wasn't important. Church. I had to get to the church.
I started running putting more strain on them beads of sweat were rolling freely down my back. I saw I was heading past a bakery and picked up my pace. Halfway through passing the entrance door an icy cold and cherry red liquid attacked me. I froze my mouth agape and my anger heightening. The heat of my dark and purely evil look directed itself to, what looked like a twelve-year-old boy holding a Styrofoam cup with remnants of red liquid surrounded by four of his other friends.
It is my extreme pleasure and to my happiness, I can tell you that he may have lost control over his bowel functions with jut one look from me. Insert evil giggle.
"Punks." I groweled.
Wasting no more time on him and his friends, I continued my sprint at an even faster pace.
Then I saw it.
The church was in my line of vision.
I ran even faster. My chest heaving, sweat rolling down my face, legs burning, and attracting flies. The place was like a cathedral…only smaller. I ran up the steps as fast as my legs would allow me, and continued to run to the door, by then, I was couldn't breathe.
I'm not exactly in the best shape…shut up.
Placing my two palms on the large wooden door I pushed with all of my remaining strength. The brilliantly glossed wooden doublewide doors crashed open, cool air blasted into my face, and I really couldn't move anymore. I collapsed tiredly to the carpeted floor. I heard a few gasps, people murmuring and curses being said in Yoruba.
Suddenly someone's hand grasped my hand and arm wrapped around my waist. The person gently placed my on my feet.
"Yemmy!" the person said, voice draped with concern.
I definitely knew that voice.
"Kyle?(huff huff) " I asked, looked up, and was trapped into his silver eyes.
Kyle is a tall (about 6'6) man, soft dark chocolate hair, intense silver eyes, and lean body structure.
"You (huff) better (huff) damn well (huff) appreciate (huff) the fact (huff huff) that I ran (huff) all the way (huff) here (huff) just to marry you. (deep breath)"
Kyle was looking handsome in his black suit.
That's probably what I would have said out loud, but in my mind was much hotter than before, gorgeous, rape worthy, and will-give-you-a-heart-attack-just-by-smiling-at-you kind of stunning. That is dangerous. Even I can't imagine what kind of cruel person would convince me not to rip his clothes off before our wedding day.
Oh. Wait. Yea. I remember, that was me.
The problem was I had to keep on staring at him (which, really I could do forever), because I couldn't see straight. When my vision corrected itself, I saw Kyle was grinning at me.
Having regained some of my breath, I glared at him. "What the hell is so funny?"
"I love you too." He said, and as always whenever he said that, my heart skipped a beat.
"Will you tell me why one of your poof ball thingies is gone, and why you have a giant red stain on your dress?" he asked amusedly.
With the little power I had left I smacked his shoulder.
"I probably look a giant mess." I said thoughtfully.
"Yes. You do." Kyle said matter-of-factly.
I smacked his shoulder again. He laughed at my pitiful attempt to do him harm.
"But you're my cute little mess." He said, a wide smile on his face. Then suddenly he face turned solemn. His became even more intense than before.
"You scared the crap out of me. I thought that maybe you didn't want to marry me anymore." He said locking me tight in his embrace.
"You stupid head. The reason I ran all the friggin' way here is because I didn't want you, for even a second, to think I don't want to marry you." I whispered so only he could hear. He grinned widely. Damn. Butterflies.
He easily caught me off guard and captured my lips with his own. A minute later I was breathing heavily, weak in the knees, and Kyle and I both had equally goofy smiles on our faces. Our little audience clapped loudly.
"I don't believe either of you have said ' I do' yet." Another voice invaded my dazed thoughts.
Collin, Kyle's older brother. He looked like Kyle only longer hair, stockier frame and he happened to inherit his mother's blue eyes.
"Lemme alone." I whined. Collin smiled and dragged me from a very reluctant future husband.
I continued to whimper as he pulled me towards the mothers.
My mom smiled reassuringly at me, and I smiled, but the closer I got to her the more she seemed to look peeved.
"Yemmy," she half yelled, "where are your shoes?!"
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