"Wet Bride, Lucky Bride": What About the Rest of Us?

An old Italian proverb based on a Venetian legend says: "Wet bride, lucky bride", meaning that if a girl is caught by the rain on her wedding day, she can expect a happy conjugal life. If this is true, then Mrs. Susan Cotton was certainly going to be the luckiest spouse I've known in years, but what about the rest of us, trapped in our cars in the middle of the road and water over the curb? Later on the News would be talking about this day as an example of exceptional weather; what is certain is that none of the wedding guests imagined the frustration and the unpleasant consequences that would result from that "wet, lucky" marriage.
It was a beautiful late spring Saturday in Houston, sunny, breezy and a perfect for driving to Joe and Susan's wedding. My friend David and I were both invited to the ceremony, and I was already enjoying the thought of riding the few miles to our little church in David's beautiful new green convertible. Friends and family were gathering from all over Texas while Susan's relatives, just arrived from Australia, were enjoying their sojourn in a nice hotel by the Galleria. When the groom showed up with his inseparable cowboy hat, we all had our first clue that this was going to be no common service. By the time the bride showed up, late enough to instill the right amount of excusable anxiety in the husband to be, something in the air was already taking place, and the first clouds had covered part of that beautiful blue sky. Like no other church I know, our small congregation held their services in a shared building which was formally a classical dance school; no other place would have been more appropriate for the merry celebrations that would follow the rather informal but touching liturgy.
The wedding was delightful and everybody had a very good time, but by the time rings were exchanged thunderbolts were blasting in the sky and rain was coming down as hard as Noah witnessed it. I was clueless about the immediate future events while gaily telling everyone that stupid Italian proverb. We danced and danced and danced until sunset, when some guests that were trying to leave early came back telling everyone how much rain was building up in the streets and how wise it would be to leave as soon as possible. It did not look like it was going to stop raining anytime soon, and almost everyone rushed their way out to the swampy improvised parking lot. A couple of cars remained stuck in the mud, digging tire holes in the flooded ground while some would not start at all. Friends were organizing car pools to take home the less fortunate ones; David and I looked at the convertible and decided to take a chance before it would be too late. The brand-new tires bit on the mushy dirt and pulled us out of the grass with great relief; we thought we were heading home with no further delays when we realized how bad the situation really was. All the streets leading out of the suburb had become rivers of turbid wavy water reaching over the curb, cars were coming from both directions driving between lanes where the road is higher, when the inevitable eventually happened: one car died in front of us and another one rushed by from the opposite side flooding the engine from underneath and causing it to fail in a sudden scary silence. Now the only sound heard was that of the implacable pouring rain hitting the soft top of David's beautiful new green convertible. When nature so abruptly takes control over our environment, we suddenly realize how little we can do to escape its consequences. While we tried for 30 minutes to call A.A.A. for rescue, we could literally see the water level rising until the point when escaping from the doors had simply become an unconceivable choice.
Like a ray of sun through the clouds just after a summer storm, an unexpected tow truck showed up when we were about to reach the point of hopelessness. Two teen-agers looking for extra cash on a weekend afternoon passed by asking (what an astute observation) if we perhaps needed some help. We quickly agreed on the expensive but trivial terms of their availability and pulled ourselves out from the windows. We were now barefoot walking in water up to our knees, trying to reach the truck, hoping to get home as soon as possible. The very same night a man drowned in his car in an underpass across town. Monday morning the dealership was overloaded with dozens of automobiles that had been the object of our same misfortune, the beautiful new green convertible was in the shop for over three weeks and came out with a whole new heart that cost over $7000 and an oil leaking wound that would not heal. Car rental, insurance harassment and a few other trips to the Chrysler dealer occurred in the following weeks, and the thought of another wedding still gives me chills!
"An act of God" is the technical definition insurance companies use to identify events like this to avoid responsibility, but for some unexplainable and relieving reason David was fairly succesful convincing them to cover most of the repair expenses. Sadly, months later, we hardly remember the uniqueness of the wedding, the lightness of the dances or the happiness of the couple; we remember rain, mud and loss of money. It was an expensive lesson to learn and when I hear flood warnings any desire of driving suddenly dissipates! Take my word for it, in case of doubt... take a cab! Strangely enough, groom and bride stayed so late at the reception that when they finally left, heading for their long awaited honeymoon, streets were clearing up and no longer threatening, so I guess the proverb was right indeed: "wet bride... lucky bride".