A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Wedding...

This weekend, my husband and I went to Chicago for a family wedding.

Here are some highlights:
1. My mom and grandpa were in a roll-over accident on the way to Chicago. Amazingly, they both walked away (practically) unscathed. So unscathed, in fact, that they got a loaner from the car dealership and continued on their way as if nothing happened. My mom even went to a dueling piano bar later that night, still wearing the same grass-and-mud-stained pants (stains caused by crawling out of her upside-down car into a ditch).
2. The wedding was supposed to be on a boat that cruised the Chicago harbor for three hours. Unfortunately, due to the 40 mph wind gusts and 6-8 foot swells (not to mention the 32 degree temperature and sleet), we stayed at the dock.
3. What's that you say? "Don't complain, at least you were looking at the beautiful Chicago skyline." Tut-tut, my friend. It was actually "Earth Hour" on Saturday, which means the Chicago skyline was lit up like a Christmas tree with a strand of lights out. It wasn't pitch black; that might have been kind of cool. No instead, it was just a dim, gloomy expanse.
4. Oh, did I mention that I said the prayer before dinner? I didn't want to screw it up, so I decided to write it down. I then read the prayer out loud, slowly and clearly like I learned in speech class. Apparently I didn't learn to read in any class, however, as I prayed for Jim and Tim (instead of Jean, my aunt). Whoops.

But, for me, the highlight of the weekend actually happened in the hotel room before the wedding. Upon finding out it was going to be very, very cold, I decided to purchase some tights to wear with my adorable, spring maternity dress (did I mention that I have 6 weeks until my due date at this point?). Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find any "maternity tights" on the Magnificent Mile. Probably because I was only up for walking a block of this mile-long shopping mecca (see pregnancy sidebar above). But I did find some XXL tights at Nordstrom's, that (according to the all-knowing chart on the back of the package) should have done the trick.

So, after gussying myself (hair, make-up, happy-smelling lotion), it is time to dress. Standard undergarments? Check. Camisole, dress, and jewelry? Check, check, check. Only one thing left: the tights.

[Editor's note: Men, you may not understand the literary weight of that last statement. But, believe me, "the tights" is meant to have been read with ominous music in the background. All women mentally inserted said thematic tune instinctually.]

I bravely sit down on the edge of the bed, resting my right foot onto my left knee. I am able to then pull on the right leg of the tights, all the way up to my calf. I set my right foot down, and then realize I cannot actually reach my left foot. Of course, now that the tights-tango has started, I also cannot simply repeat my previous move with the opposite legs/feet. So, I call in my husband. After some coaching, he is actually able to ease the tights onto my left leg, again up to my calf. He then exits the bedroom area of the suite, thanking God for making him male. I begin the next phase of the tights-tango: the two-inch shimmy. (Ladies, you know this routine: start from the bottom of one leg, and pull the tights as taut as you think they can go. Repeat this step on the other leg, only to discover you gained a meager two inches. Repeat this step over and over again until you are sure your next yank will run your tights. At this point, you're probably halfway there.) Well, what I didn't realize was that my two-inch shimmy-ing abilities have decreased in direct proportion to the increase in my pregnant belly girth. I begin panting. Sweating. Grunting. Sighing. Groaning. I don't notice my volume increasing; I am on a mission that cannot be denied.

Well, my husband did notice my volume increasing. So much so, he thought I must be in labor. Or, if not in labor, about to induce it myself. He runs into the room with a glass of water, tilts me onto the bed (you need to have a mental picture of me tangled in tights to understand why I use the verb 'tilt'), and begins to rip the tights off of my legs. I don't understand the urgency of his movements, but realize that his actions are providing a freedom I had forgotten in the past moments. I could feel my legs again! My breathing was beginning to steady. Wait, why was I sweating? I couldn't even remember, it all happened so fast. I sat up in bed and sipped on the refreshing beverage he had delivered, fanning myself with my spare hand.

Looking back, I still don't remember all of the details of that fateful encounter with the Nordstrom XXL tights. All I know is that my legs were bare for the wedding, and that was fine by me.