It’s a mantra they teach in training class at work. Apparently, they don’t want you stressin’ and freakin’, or freakin’ and streakin’ to the door out of class. You might, once you see the GIANT training manual, hence the mantra.

My learned mantra came in mighty handy this weekend when we had some – shall we say – wedding wardrobe malfunctions?

First off, I discover the bride, my sister, didn’t get her dress she ordered a few weeks ago from the shop until FRIDAY. The dress she picked out, and became crazy-in-love with, the one she called me about, and I said, “A dress? Really – you got an actual dress?” She squeals with delight, “Yes, yes, an actual dress. Can you believe it? No pants.”

She always wears pants. A dress…niiice. So, what happens when she goes to try on her wedding dress, on her wedding day, after the shop altered it to fit, and got it back to her with zero days to spare?

Yeah, it didn’t fit. At all. She couldn’t move her arms. No stressin’, no freakin’.

[insert – major bridezilla outburst – then a trip to Dillard’s with her best friend to pick out a shirt to go with pants]

Jason, the girls, and I arrive in Houston from Dallas about 12:30pm. Thank GOODNESS for me. We left about an hour and a half late and I was just a little freaked that we would hit a traffic snag and MISS my sister’s wedding. Okay, a lot freaked (sorry Jason). No stressin’, no freakin’.

But phew! We made it NO PROBLEM. Our part in the wedding is easy; if you’re not terrified of speaking in public (which I am). All we have to do is stand up and read scripture marked and highlighted for us. No special wedding clothes or processions.

The little girls have a bigger part being flower girls, but we weren’t entirely sure they WOULD be flower girls, since they tend to be shy.

My brother at ten minutes until four says, “Hey, it takes half an hour to get there and Deedy wants me to make sure everyone is there on time. Wedding starts at 5:00pm. The wedding party needs arrive at 4:30pm. Are ya’ll ready to go?”

Well, no.

I was not dressed. The girls were not dressed. Jason was not dressed. No problem, ten minutes and we would be golden and out the door. And we pretty much were. I was ready. The girls were ready. And all Jason has to do is put on his white dress shirt and tie. It was 4:05pm. We could make it, no sweat. No stressin’. No freakin’.

Except, for the real sweat. Have you been to Houston in June? Ugh.

I am watching Jason put one arm in, then the other. Calculating in my mind how long it will take him to button, fix the tie, get the girls out the door and in-car seats, when he stops short.

“Oh, NO!”

“What?”

“My shirt!”

“What about your shirt?”

“It doesn’t fit.” He gestures down to the obviously gaping shirt. Sweat. Whaaaatttttt?????

“We have to stop and get one on the way.” He is still tugging at each side trying to get it close to being buttoned. It’s not close.

We don’t have a second to spare. My biggest nightmare – missing my sister’s wedding – is coming true.

“Just squeeze, just stuff, suck it in. OHMAGAWD!” The shirt does not fit.

[insert-me throwing hands in air pitching a fit]

I didn’t. But trust me, I felt that way inside. No stressin’. No freakin’.

By some miracle, we get in the car and on the way at 4:20pm. I no longer hope make it by 4:30pm. That dream decimated when he said the shirt didn’t fit. No, NOW, I only hope to make it TO the wedding. You know. Before it actually starts, because it’s only my sister’s WEDDING. But now he is saying we should stop at the MALL. He can run in and out real quick. Yeah, riiiight.

It takes twenty minutes just to FIND a park, then to FIND the shirt, FIND a checker with no line. Ain’t no freakin’ way. No stressin’, no freakin’.

Like a mirage from heaven, a sign appears – The Burlington Coat Factory. I have no idea if they have white dress shirts or not, but in he goes to try. At this point, his black t-shirt over black pants is just fine to read scripture in. Just please God let us get there by five. I have looked at the time every MINUTE since we left. No stressin’. No freakin’.

In a herculean effort, Jason appears at the car door with a new white dress shirt in hand. YES!!! We are driving and taking pins out, while unfolding a very creased wrinkle-free shirt. Heh. I think it was his bright idea to put in ON as he is driving, because -HELLO?- we are LATE. No stressin’, no freakin’

I’m trying to help. In goes the one arm, then I stretch the other side as far across his shoulder as I can in a seat belt. He shoots his arm back behind his shoulder to grab the hole with his hand. In his next deft move, he is pulling the shirt onto his arm when we hear, “Riiiiiiiiiiiiiippppp!”

All motion stops, eyes showing whites at each other confirming in blind panic we both heard the undeniable sound of ripping fabric. OH NO! NO STRESSIN’! NO FREAKIN’! That’s when we BURST out laughing, because really? REALLY.

After convulsing in our seats a good five minutes, we assess the damage. The rip was under the arm pit and not noticeable. Phew! No stressin’. No freakin’.

We make it to the wedding with ten minutes to spare – okay five. Luckily, my sister wasn’t ready. She was totally stressin’ and freakin’. I didn’t want to bring up my mantra to her.

The last wardrobe snafu was at the reception when Jason discovered his shoe wasn’t just sticking to the floor, it was actually flapping in the wind. The sole had completely separated from the shoe. It was like a flip-flop dress shoe gone all kinds of wrong. No stressin’. No freakin’. Hey, it wasn’t my shoe.

All I can say is, at our wedding, I’m packing the duct tape.

Just in case.