No Dance No Cry

My husband and I got engaged on August 18, 1999 – about 6 months after we started dating. It was fast, crazy love what can I say (emphasis on the crazy). At the time, my older brother was also engaged and preparing to get married a couple of months later, in early October. My then-fiance wasn’t planning on coming to the wedding, since it was going to be held in Long Beach, California, and he worked in Toronto at the time. However, my dad INSISTED that he be there, since he was now a member of the family. (He was IN – little did he know that once you’re in, THERE IS NO WAY OUT).

Fast forward to the day of the wedding, it was beautiful. Long Beach was amazing, the church and the hall were gorgeous and it was wonderful having my entire family there, since it was the first and only time that we had ever traveled together as a family. Anyway, the day had gone perfectly – dinner was delicious and the wine FLOWED easily. Then the dancing began.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a Greek wedding, but Greeks can party. They party hard. Everyone parties hard. I’m not kidding. Fathers, Mothers, 90 year-old grandmothers – are all partying like its 1999. And Greeks dance in large groups, in large circles, round and round, over and over again. We all know the steps – learned after years and years of Greek dancing lessons, and attending Greek celebrations.

Now, what happens when you throw a non-Greek into the mix? For the Greeks, its like driving by a car accident. You can’t take your eyes off them. They don’t know the steps, they are pulled along in the circle, trying their damndest not to fall, and yet they still have a blast (thank you alcohol). Greeks think its hilarious, and yet they love the fact that they want to party as hard as every Greek there. But, there is also that non-Greek who has no rhythm, no soul, no ability to dance. And we had one of those individuals at the wedding. My fiance.

My husband is not Greek. He is also the worst dancer on the planet. He can’t even clap to a rhythm of a song. I’m serious – he can’t. Its kind of sad, but mostly really funny. So at Greek weddings, including our own, he just holds on for dear life, and smiles like a freak the entire time. He’s a good sport, I will definitely give him that. But at my brother’s wedding, he did something so heinous, so embarassing that the party ended the minute it happened.

After hours of traditional Greek dancing played by the band, the dj played some dance music for the “younger” people to have some fun too. It gives the non-Greeks a chance to actually dance without being laughed at. Good times. My then-fiance/now-husband and I started to dance together. Let me set the scene for you. I’m wearing this lovely, long dress with very high heels, and I was very happy (read: slightly intoxicated). He was wearing a dark suit and was smiling from ear to ear (read: also intoxicated). We started dancing, when all of a sudden, he decided that he knew how to dance and started to spin me around and around and then he let go. He threw me face first into Table #12.  I hit that table so hard that I fell to the floor and when I lifted my head, my lip was gushing blood into my hands. I actually thought I had lost my front teeth, which I didn’t. I was hoping that “no one had noticed”. Fat chance, fat lip. All of a sudden, somebody screams, “STOP THE MUSIC”. The band stops playing and the lights get turned up. EVERYONE was staring at me. EVERYONE. I have never wanted to die as much as I did at that moment. I got helped up by somebody and basically ran to the bathroom to hide.

Let us ponder this for a moment. My fiance THREW ME INTO A TABLE, GAVE ME THE BIGGEST FAT LIP I HAVE EVER SEEN, and ENDED MY BROTHER’S WEDDING WITH A BLOODY THUD.  It was horrifying to say the least. I was so upset for my brother and his wife (mostly his wife). Thankfully, my sister-in-law came into the bathroom, to THANK ME for ending their wedding because they were tired, and really wanted to get the show on the road.

I spent the rest of the evening with a bag of ice on my lip, trying to stop the swelling. I could barely move my lips the next day. Although I was still able to enjoy a lovely breakie of Eggs Benny, because who says no to Eggs Benny? No one, that’s who.

The moral of this story? If you EVER get asked to dance by my husband, and you don’t happen to be wearing a goalie mask, turn and run as fast as you can. Your face will thank you.

(Me and the Fiance/now Husband before our throw-me-into-a-table-dance)

(Please forgive the crappy photo quality – all I could find at the moment)

(FAT LIP PHOTOS ARE CURRENTLY M.I.A.)

Tagged as: bad dancers, fat lip, Greek weddings, wedding accidents