No, we’re not talking about my wedding again. (That will come in due time when we get the proofs back from the photographer!) Rather, SVV and I flew a bazillion hours back from Taiwan starting Thursday to make it to my good friend Lahla’s wedding in East Tennessee on Saturday. Because who would have wanted to miss this?
Held at the venue with the best name ever: Bacon Farm on Bacon Road.
Lahla and I worked at a newspaper together seven years ago where she was design editor and I manned features. Today, she runs a pottery studio in Pikeville, Kentucky, while her HUSBAND Brian is a Spanish teacher by day and crazy intrepid outdoorsman by weekend and summer. Seriously, the dude climbs the most dangerous of mountains in Alaska and Patagonia and other places known for dangerous mountains and doesn’t think twice. (I guess, in retrospect, I should be glad SVV’s only guilty pleasure is getting hurt annually in the Mojave Desert.) So what I’m saying essentially is they’re the coolest couple ever, meaning their wedding would only follow suit.
(Doesn’t she look like a porcelain doll? The girl has excellent genes.)
And, let me just say, nothing is more fun in the first place than going to that first wedding after your own, when the stress and spotlight are off of you and you actually have time to enjoy and remember the small things.
Like the fact that they served mint juleps at the cocktail bar (and also mojitos and blackberry margaritas) out of mason jars. And the fact that Lahla HAND STAMPED each of the bags of lavender that we used to pelt toss gently at the newlywed couple.
And gave away seeds to plant as favors (brilliant idea; SVV and I love us some flower adornments in the apartment).
The cake was a nod to the fact that Brian popped the question atop a temple in Mexico.
I can’t say for certain, but given the talent of this gal, I’d wager that Lahla did a lot of the little stuff by herself. Like the place cards.
And fan programs.
How much did I love the groomsmen’s suits, too, by the way? I think they’re from J. Crew, and I might just have to find a way to procure one for my newly suit-obsessed husband.
All the music was folk and bluegrass, and Lahla’s little bro Avery—Justin Bieber incarnate if you will—wooed the guests with his velvet-y vocals during the ceremony. (A few of us might have even had tears in our eyes. I’m not saying whom.)
The couple’s first dance was the Tennessee Waltz—how much do I love that?—and after the dinner, a rowdy square dance went down for the remainder of the night.
Speaking of the dinner…WOW. Fried chicken, scallops, corn, biscuits, green beans, fried green tomatoes, sweet tea. And PIE on every table. In the words of Forrest Gump, that’s all I have to say about that.
Of course, I had to watch what I ate—and also couldn’t partake in the square dancing, or risk busting out of my dress altogether. Why? (And no, it wasn’t at all too tight either.) Well, I had a minor dress malfunction, you see, that nearly prevented me from attending the wedding in the first place. After SVV and I got stuck in a tornado storm in O’Hare—what else is new?—and I was already convinced our flight wasn’t going to arrive in Knoxville in time, we had a second setback. We did arrive in Knoxville late Friday night, quite a few hours behind schedule, crashed at my sister’s house, and my friends Laura and Beau picked us up Saturday to drove us to the impossibly cute town of Jonesborough near where the wedding was held. I wore the Adrianna Pappel dress that I’ve worn exactly once before—for Holly’s wedding—and during which time I left a string of beads as a trail in the Powder Room/her parents’ bathroom (to much befuddlement of the bride and her family the following day). Well, THIS TIME, it was much, much more severe. Because the way the dress was constructed, the beading and sequins were SEWN INTO the zipper. (You see where this is going.) SVV couldn’t zip me up. I called Laura, who came over and got the zipper up halfway. Only then, it wouldn’t go up any further. But it also wouldn’t go down. So even if I’d had a back-up dress, which I didn’t, I couldn’t have just changed and learned my lesson to always carry an emergency sewing kit, as that dress was not budging. With less than 10 minutes to spare, we borrowed Beau’s car and went a few places where Scott ran into buy me some safety pins, to finally find some—seriously, Rite Aid, what kind of pharmacy/convenience store DOESN’T carry safety pins?—and sped back to the town square to catch the shuttle.
Thankfully, the bus driver waited 15 minutes for me. And it was all gravy, as Laura stuck 10 pins in my side and my Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction was a near miss. (Though SVV did have to cut the garment off me at the end of the night, RIP beautiful dress. Also, Adrianna Papell, I’d like a refund, please.)
After all the stress of almost missing the fete, I couldn’t have been happier to have boarded the shuttle to find it was actually a party bus, filled with some of my favorite people from college and, of course, more champagne than should be legally allowed.
All in all, the perfect day for the perfect couple.