I married the love of my life Nathan last week, and I will remember that day for the rest of my life. Why will I remember it? Not because I declared my undying love for my now-husband in front of our loved ones. Oh, no. The day is burned into my memory because of the fact that my priest had the audacity to wear white to my wedding.
My wedding, not his!
So, I thought it was a rule-of-thumb that you don’t wear white unless you, specifically, are the bride. Father Timothy, this was not your moment. This was my moment. And you fucking destroyed it.
Father Timothy can’t even get married—he’s a priest! I guess that’s why he jealously wanted to upstage me.
Everyone else at the wedding seemed to get it. My bridesmaids wore the olive-green pinup girl dresses that I picked out. My mother wore the light-purple kimono-inspired separates that I picked out. My maid-of-honor Trina even diapered her baby in a lime-green diaper I bought special from the internet, just to make sure everyone stuck to the no-white maxim. Luckily, these people cared about me. Unfortunately, the priest did not.
Imagine my horror: I’m walking down the aisle towards Nathan, feeling so much love for him, staring into his gorgeous, unpredictable, hazel eyes that I know will always—wait a fucking minute, Father Timothy is wearing a white robe? Is this seriously happening? Don’t try to tell me he doesn’t have any other robes—I know he sure as fuck has a purple one. And he’s smiling at me? What kind of sadistic fuck is this guy?
Oh of course he went with the gold trim—a classy touch that seemingly aims to rival my engagement ring.
I was no bridezilla, but when I got to the altar, I threw a fucking fit. I don’t remember most of it, but I’m told I called Father Timothy a “full bitch” and pushed him into the baptismal font. In my defense, this had been a long time coming—I have vivid memories of Father Timothy eating the Eucharist himself at my First Holy Communion. Like, what the fuck???
I went through with the wedding, but I didn’t enjoy it. How could I? This bearded shitbird was basically saying, “Beat this, loser,” right in my face.
I’ve been married for a month and it’s not going well. I can’t shake this idea that I’ll never be anyone’s number-one.
Even though my happily-ever-after was stolen from me, yours doesn’t have to be. Whatever you do, please do NOT give your wedding business to Father Timothy of the Holy Trinity Church of the Prairie in Chicago, IL. He’ll act like your friend for years, and then ruin your life forever.
