Yeah, yeah, Kate’s got a tiara and she’s getting’ a crown, and the royal wedding is getting to
be a royal pain in the ass. If you really want a royally good time, y’all oughta attend a good Texas wedding.
A while back I got a call at the newspaper from a lovely belle from Southern Living, who said she’d be in Austin with a photographer to snap shots at a Real Texas Wedding.
I nearly dropped the phone.
I have covered a lot of Real Texas Weddings, and never once did I think Southern Living would carry a full page spread on the goings-on that tend to make up a Lone Star hitch-up.
There was the one where the bride and groom rode up the aisle on four-wheelers and popped wheelies after the service, the one where the wedding party dressed in camouflage and were registered at Cabela’s Sporting Goods and Peete Mesquite Bar-b-Que, and my personal favorite, the one that took place on a lovely hill overlooking a picturesque valley and everything was fairytale perfect, except the groom was missing.
Then, a whole buncha shootin’ commenced, and the groom and his merry band of redneck friends charged up the hill, hootin’ and hollerin’ on horseback and just stole the bride right off her pretty platform shoes. Seriously. He just yanked her up onto the horse and took off, her big white dress billowing behind.
I asked the genteel lady on the line, “Um, what kind of Texas Wedding are we talking about?”
“You know,” she said, with her lovely, lilting Deep South drawl. “The kind where they wear cowboy hats and the men all wear boots and those little bolo ties.”
“Oh, that kind,” I said, a little disappointed.
But I agreed to meet her and her photographer buddy at the airport and show them around and make sure I got them to the wedding plenty early so they could get some “good candid shots of all the elegant Texas ambience.”
It turned out to be an outdoor wedding on a ranch outside of Oak Hill, southwest of town, At 10 a.m. sharp, we arrived at the ranch to find the gates open and decked with those paper expanding bells and they’d made an arch of silver and white balloons.
The drive up to the ranch was already glowing with white luminarias specifically designed for the occasion, and as we stopped to take pictures of this enchanted entrance, the photographer was so giddy he actually squealed with delight.
The squealing with delight abruptly stopped as we pulled into the front calf pasture that’d been designated for parking.
Dodging the mud and cow poo, we made it to the staging area, where the groom was no where to be found, the bridesmaids had already gotten into the margarita machine, and the bride was having a fit because “The place is a pig sty and nobody is helpin’!”
In preparation for the big Southern Living spread, she already donned the big white dress.
And when we got up to the front porch, there she was in all her spangled, fluffed and blizzard-white glory, holding a big bag of trash and screaming for somebody to “take out the damn trash already, it’s startin’ to stink up my wedding!”
In a snit, she hefted the bag over her tastefully off-shoulder gown and took it out to the trash herself.
She yanked the lid off the garbage can, and out jumped a possum.
The photographer screamed.
The writer fell over backward.
And I started snapping pictures.
So Kate, we wish you a big Texas Good Luck on your impending nuptials. And we hope you can top a possum.