It was a hot, rainy, sticky August summer day in southeast Texas. The kind that makes you wish you could take a shower again because you sweat so much just getting ready. I awoke early in a bed not my own. In a house not my own. I got up, grabbed my bible, a notebook and a pen, and went out to sit on the veranda of the beach house my girlfriends and I were in. It was gloomy and the rain was falling, but it didn’t matter. Because this was the day I had waited for all my life.
And nothing else mattered. Not even the Olympics happening on the other side of the globe. I had no idea who was competing, nor did I really care. Shoot, I scarcely even knew it was happening. Up until now, all my energy had gone into preparing for this day. Because I was getting married today. Today was MY day.
Of course, as I made history of my own (getting married and all), I didn’t realize that sports history was being made at the exact same time. You see, I had it all figured out in my head. After the wedding, we would arrive at the hotel to a chorus of ooh’s and ahh’s as random hotel patrons gushed over the blushing new bride and her love. Perhaps there would even be a spontaneous round of applause from the people in the lobby. Little girls would all point and say, “look mommy, a princess!”
But that’s not how it went down. Not. At. All. You see, we arrived at the hotel to virtually zero stares. And really, I thought it was odd that nobody was even around in the lobby. This was to be my shining moment. The moment I’d dreamed of foreva. So where in the heck was everybody?
We got on the glass elevator preparing to ascend to our floor when we discovered what was going on. There, in the bar, were masses of people. Well, maybe not masses, but whatever. Everyone was in the bar. On multiple televisions were the Olympics. And here I was, all decked out in my wedding gown, hot and sticky, thinking, what is wrong with you people? There is a BRIDE up here deserving of your attention. I’m still wearing my veil, for goodness sake!
But I got nothing. Not even a glance. Instead, people just stared at those dumb tv screens, mesmerized and cheering at some swimming event. Psh.
Deflated Still extremely happy from what was a wonderful day, we went to our room. At some point we turned on the tv to see what all the fuss was about. Turns out, Michael Phelps was literally breaking a record at that exact moment, swimming for his eighth gold medal of the games. Oh.
Stupid Michael Phelps.
You totally stole my thunder that day. Not that I’m bitter or anything. Of course, I’m kind of rooting for the other guy to win this year, but whatever.