The “I Do” Joker: Or Why You Should Never Marry a Washing Machine
Part 12: The Vows and the Tulle Terrorist
The panpipe version of “The Final Countdown” blared from the tinny speakers and echoed off the corrugated metal walls of the hall like the soundtrack to the end of the world. Mia and I advanced – or rather, wobbled – towards the duct-tape altar. My jacket was stretched so tightly I felt like a sausage casing seconds from bursting.
Basti, our fake Dr von Vogelstein, stood there clutching his notebook as if it were a holy relic. His face was flushed, and tiny beads of sweat ran from his forehead straight onto the collar of his turtleneck. He cleared his throat. Over the microphone, it sounded like a jet engine starting up.
“Love…,” Basti began in a voice so deep the skylight windows vibrated. “Love is like… like rust on an old steel beam. It arrives uninvited, eats its way deep inside, and you can only really get rid of it with coarse sandpaper and a lot of chemicals.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Grandma Hildegard. She was sitting in the front row on a Pirelli tyre, her eyes narrowed into two threatening slits. Next to her, Beate was sniffing into her handkerchief. She apparently found the rust comparison “incredibly metaphorical”.
“Finn-Alexander,” Basti continued, fixing me with a stare that reminded me he should really be handing out fish finger flyers, “are you ready to leave the narrative of loneliness behind and sail with this woman into the harbour of shared utility bills?”
At that exact moment, Mia felt a disturbance in the force – or rather, in her dress. A sudden tug rippled through the six metres of tulle trailing behind her. “Finn,” she hissed without moving her lips. “Something is moving under my skirt.” “That’s just stage fright,” I whispered back. “No,” she breathed in panic. “Stage fright doesn’t have claws!”
Suddenly, a small grey head emerged from the endless depths of second-hand tulle. Karl-Friedrich, the hall’s resident rat, had apparently decided the fluffy layers of Mia’s dress made a cosy nest. He looked briefly confused at the wedding guests, spotted the stuffed swan Lohmeyer, and seemed to weigh up the competition.
Mia suppressed a scream that would probably have exposed the entire army of extras. She made a frantic sidestep to the left. The tulle rustled ominously. Startled by the sudden movement, Karl-Friedrich shot out from the hem of the dress like a furry lightning bolt and sprinted straight across the polished parquet – meaning the dusty concrete floor – towards Grandma Hildegard.
“A RAT!” Uncle Herbert bellowed, dropping one of his wine bottles in shock. It smashed loudly, and chaos was complete. The eBay extras jumped to their feet, Basti lost the thread of his rust sermon, and Karl-Friedrich sought refuge beneath the brim of Grandma Hildegard’s imposing hat ensemble.
“It’s part of the concept!” Lukas shouted desperately over the noise, flailing his arms. “Urban wildlife! The symbiosis of humans and nature!”
Hildegard didn’t move an inch. She looked at the rat, now stopped at her feet, and then at Mia, who looked on the verge of fainting. “Dr von Vogelstein,” Hildegard said in a voice colder than the freezer compartment of a fish finger delivery truck, “carry on. Before I decide to call pest control.”
Basti swallowed so loudly it could be heard at the back of the hall. “Er… yes. Right. Finn, do you wish to take Mia as your lawfully wedded… flatmate… I mean, wife? Then answer now with ‘yes’.”
I looked at Mia. She was pale, her dress was covered in dust, a rat had just used her as a taxi, and we were standing in a ruin. “Yes,” I said, and strangely, it almost sounded real. “And you, Mia?” Basti asked. Mia glanced briefly at her grandmother, then at me. “Yes,” she said firmly. “But Finn gets the rat in the event of a divorce.”
“Then I hereby declare you… er… married people!” Basti proclaimed. “You may now… carefully touch the bride!”
I leaned forward and kissed Mia on the cheek. It smelled of old perfume, fear sweat, and a hint of warehouse. Behind us, the eBay extras began clapping mechanically, while Lukas was already tapping the first keg of free beer. We had done it. We were “married”.
But when I looked into Grandma Hildegard’s eyes, I knew one thing: the real trial – the wedding reception – had only just begun.