If someone had told me that morning that by evening Id be standing in a white shirt, holding someone elses bouquet, forcing a smile, and swearing in front of strangers to «always support their union,» Id have laughed, tapped my temple, and gone back to making my porridge while staring out at the quiet street. No signs from fate, no suspicious coincidencesjust an ordinary morning. But life, as it turns out, loves throwing curveballs when you least expect it, especially when youre in slippers holding a mug of tea.
It all started because I fancied popping into the registry office. Not for any official reasontheres a stall opposite that does the best sausage rolls in town, and I was just heading there for a bite. The queue, the smell of fresh pastry, fried onions, and mustardall perfectly normal. Then, out of nowhere, a black car decked with ribbons and roses pulled up, shining like something out of a film, and a noisy crowd spilled out. Laughter, cheers, phone flashes, clouds of perfume, confettisuddenly, it was like Id accidentally wandered onto the set of a festive ad.
One of the bridesmaids, in a bright green dress with sequins, dashed over, grabbed my arm like we were old mates, and declared, «There he is! Our second witness!»
I actually glanced behind memaybe she meant someone else. Nope. Everyone was staring at me, someone whistled, others clapped louder, and suddenly, I was the centre of attention, like an actor whod walked onto the wrong stage.
«Wait, Im actually just» I started, but it was too late. They dragged me inside, shoved a boutonnière into my hands, and planted me next to a tall bloke in a suit so crisp he looked ironed into it, his expression caught between amusement and panic.
«Hold the bouquet, smile,» the bridesmaid hissed, adjusting my boutonnière like she did this daily. «Our real witness is stuck in trafficyoure saving the day. Just dont blink too much, or youll look like an owl in the photos.»
I meant to refuse. Honestly. I opened my mouth, but right then, the wedding march blaredloud, grand, echoing through the hall. The doors swung open, and like clockwork, the whole procession moved forward, taking me with them as if Id always been part of the script.
Hands down, one of the weirdest moments of my life. There I was, next to a groom nervously fiddling with his cuff like he was late to his own wedding, and a bride who looked ready to burst into happy tears any second. She kept biting her lip, her veil trembling with every breath. I didnt know their names. Wasnt even sure I was holding the bouquet rightwhich hand, what angle, did I look like a total fraud?
When the registrar called the witnesses forward, I stepped up and it hit me: I was living some sitcom mishap. Everyone watching. Cameras flashing. The photographer snapping away like he was capturing history. And me, a bloke who just wanted a sausage roll, was now officially part of a strangers weddingstamps, signatures, and all.
The wildest part? No one even noticed. Not the groom, the bride, or the aunties in the front row dabbing their eyes. I signed the register, posed for photos, and then the bridesmaid handed me a slice of cake and a glass of bubbly like it was always the plan.
«Cheers, you saved us!» she said with a wink. «Need a favour someday, just shout. Youre one of us now.»
When I finally walked out, I had a bouquet in hand, a napkin with the bridesmaids number in my pocket, wedding tunes still ringing in my ears, and one clear thought: porridge was definitely off the menu. Instead of a quiet morning, Id stumbled into someone elses rom-comand somehow ended up playing a starring role.
