Wedding Story

The wedding itself went according to plan, except for the fact that the minister forget to say, “You may kiss the bride”, so I went back down the aisle still veiled while on my husband’s arm. The reception too seemed to be flawless, although I found out later that that was almost a food fight when it came time to which family member would cut up the wedding cake for distribution to the waiting guests.

The real “horrors” believe it or not, had to do with the honeymoon. It started the week before when we called to reconfirm our reservations that we had made the previous year. Needless to say, they mysteriously disappeared and since it was a holiday weekend (Columbus Day), there were no other vacancies. My future husband assured us that there would be no problem in finding a place to stay “somewhere”.

Well, he was right, we did find “somewhere” to stay the first night - our car (a Plymouth Duster, which my brother-in-law named Desdemona), the one that we had in the shop all week (keep this in mind as it will be crucial to the story) to prepare it for the trip from SE Massachusetts to Vermont, via the Mohawk Trail. The reason for our special honeymoon accommodations? Every hotel, motel, inn and shack were booked solid for the BIG weekend.

We drove as far as the Mohawk Trail (or as my little brother used to call it - The Newhawk Jail) and slept, yes slept for two hours in a hotel parking lot (not the one we were supposed to stay at) from 4-6 AM. The local Dunkin’ Donuts employees must have thought Mugsy and Lefty (not quite but you get the idea) had just invaded their little town when we walked in, as we were quite a sight (and not for sore eyes).

After coffee and donuts, we went out in search of possible lodging for the night, in hopes that some of the travelers would leave a day early to beat the holiday traffic. Right, like that was going to happen!