No, seriously, I can’t make this up.
The day was running flawlessly. Not even a hiccup. The bride was beyond gorgeous, the groom? Elequantly manicured. The bridal party were the most relaxed, chilled-out, fun party animals I’d shot in ages. Everything was going to plan.
Bride at the conclusion, the Bride breaks protocol and says, “Stu!”
I say, “Emma!”
She says, "I need a cheeseburger.”
I say, “The hell is happening right now!??”
So, the whole bridal party and their photographer roll into the local pub, where the bride orders a wagyu cheeseburger and a schooner of Superdry. I’m digging into how this is going.
One schooner turns into two and then three, and suddenly; the bride comes to the stark realisation that what goes in must come out.
Under any other circumstance? There’d be no issue.
But today? Today? Well? Today was a wedding day, and the bride was wearing not one, not two, but FOUR layers of Spanks under her wedding dress. You know, to keep everything in place. And those four layers were not coming off in any delicate way, certainly not under that dress. But? What’s a girl to do on her big day with three schooners of beer in the tank?
This is where the maid of honour earned her stripes. In an act of benevolent violence, she grabbed a steak knife and simply said, “Let’s go”. I can only relay the story as someone standing outside the bathroom. And I was horrified. The maid of honour popped the bride onto her porcelain throne and slashed through four layers of elasticated latex fibre WITH A STEAK KNIFE so that the bride might find some relief.
So I and the maid of honour are now both acutely aware that under her gorgeous dress, the bride is walking around on her big day with her lady parts poking through four layers of spanks. I get the need to let your junk breathe, but DAMN! I spent the entire time with the bride’s maid of honour maniacally giggling throughout the reception. We were the only two who were in on the joke.
The point? Even when a wedding is going 100% to plan? It’s never EVER going 100% to plan.
One minute, you’re getting hitched to the most perfect man in the world, and the next? Your bits are getting way more air than you assumed they would.
What can we take away from this? Trust your bridal party, and ABSOLUTELY trust your photographer. He’s seen way more than he ever should have and absolutely has your back. Or front. The show must go on, and your photographer is the one that’ll get you through it.