Right after our wedding, my husband and I just crashed in the hotel room, totally exhausted. It was our first night as a married couple, but I was just too tired.
He seemed OK with it, so we went to sleep.
Suddenly, I woke up in the middle of the night because the bed was shaking!
I turned over and couldn’t believe my eyes! Jeez, he was jumping on the bed, holding a champagne bottle in one hand and a slice of wedding cake in the other, wearing nothing but his boxers and one of those ridiculous hotel robes.
“Surprise!” he whispered loudly, grinning like a kid. “We forgot the wedding night party!”
I blinked, still half-asleep, half-shocked. “Are you serious right now?” I groaned, rubbing my temples.
“Dead serious,” he said, dramatically popping the champagne cork, which shot across the room and bounced off the minibar. “You were too tired earlier, so I figured I’d give us a second chance at midnight magic.”
Before I could protest, he jumped down, shoved a forkful of cake into my mouth, and said, “Come on, Mrs. Thompson. You only get one first night as husband and wife. Let’s make it weirdly memorable.”
We ended up dancing barefoot on the carpet to music from his phone, feeding each other cake, laughing so hard I nearly snorted icing out of my nose. Somewhere between a mock tango and a frosting fight, I realized — this chaotic, over-the-top man was mine. Forever.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The hotel charged us for a broken champagne flute, three pillow stains, and a noise complaint from Room 407. Worth it.