Introductions

"Why isn't he talking, why isn't he talking?!"  My  husband of two hours and I are standing outside the reception room of our wedding, waiting for our grand introduction.  Not our entrance.  Our introduction.

The worst traffic jam Cincinnati had seen in decades waited to descend upon my wedding day, a Saturday, when the city cheerfully neglected to inform anyone, such as, you know, BRIDAL PARTIES and POTENTIAL WEDDING GUESTS, that a bridge over the Ohio River was closed.  Man, ain't nothin' like being married for forty minutes and folding breathlessly over in the getaway car because you are positive that the entire guest list is currently sitting in various rental cars, suspended somewhere over the Ohio River, and if everybody did make it to the reception, the mashed potatoes would be goo and the cake all moldy and the whole entire day and subsequently the rest of your life just ruined, ruined, ruined. 

As locals, we knew a few backroads alternates, but our guests were still idling on the bridge when we swept into the room to the scattered applause of about ten people. We had to serve the meal then, or not at all. Wine before glory.

And so long after the rest of the guests arrived, we stood listening to the strains of the Throne Room March, which I'd long dreamed of as a wedding introductory song. When you wait until the age of thirty to get married, you have time to plan.  The only part of the dream missing was the wedding party creating an arch with battery lit lightsabers. I am a classy bride...because the groom refused to be seen walking beneath plastic weaponry.

A D.J. wasn't in the budget, but a friend and a computer hooked up to a tinny sound system was, and he did the introductory favors--perfectly in time with the music.  That, at least, was one thing I wasn't late for.