living an unconventional life, one cocktail at a time

Thirteen years ago, I broke into a hotel room.

Well, sort of.

Thirteen years ago today, I married my dear husband. Two years ago, I wrote a little bit about some of our favorite memories here, but there’s certainly many more. Like how we had to scale walls to get into our room that night.

A little background first: I hired a wedding coordinator while I was planning our wedding. Not the kind of coordinator who plans everything for you and does all the work, although she certainly could have, but the kind who’s there on the big day to dig through the trunk of your parents’ car to find car keys that belong to the wedding party, who are stranded down the street at the church while you’re stuck in the receiving line at the reception. True story.

Our Wedding  |  www.wifeofabartender.comAt some point, the keys to my car ended up in Stacee’s bag. Not a big deal; we didn’t really need my car for anything. Except that the key to our room at the bed and breakfast was on my key ring, and we didn’t remember that important fact until the party was over and Stacee was long gone.

Lucky for us, several members of the wedding party were also staying at the same bed and breakfast, so we hitched a ride with our friend Joe and found that someone had left the door to the house unlocked. One door down.

But once we were inside, we had no way into our room. I had locked the door when I left that morning, and it’s not like a hotel with a front desk that’s staffed 24/7 with people who can hand out extra keys.

Once again, luck was on our side. Our room happened to be the one with a balcony that overlooked the kitchen– and directly under the balcony was a kitchen island. The guys jumped up onto the island, Dave hoisted Joe up over the top of the balcony rail and we all held our breath as Joe tried the balcony door.

It was unlocked. We were in! Believe me, at three in the morning on your wedding night, locked out of your room is not the place you want to be.

As thanks for his assistance, Joe got to spend the night in his car. (I don’t think he had a room anywhere. We aren’t sure what he was doing. And I totally would have let him sleep on our floor if it was any night besides our wedding night.) He’s not the only one, though– at least one of my bridesmaids slept in her car because of a snoring roommate.

And here we are, thirteen years later. Happy anniversary to my wonderful husband!

Side note to those of you planning weddings–and I know there are lots of you: hire a wedding coordinator. It’s worth your, and your mom’s, sanity. More on that soon.

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