Thursday, November 17, 2005

Wedding Story, pt 3

30 minutes.

I had plenty of time.
I could do it.

I looked at the bowtie, hanging untied and loose around my neck. I then looked at the instructions. There were only 5 steps.

I could do it.
Hell, I'm a surgeon. I tie knots for a living.
I could do it.
You can do it!

I psyched myself up and got started.

Step 1: cross here.
Step 2: go through loop.
Step 3: move this end here.

So far so good. What I had in my hand looked exactly like the picture in the instructions.

Step 4: hold this end like this, and
Step 5: magically a bowtie forms.

What? Wait, there must be a Step 4.5 because there is no way that we went from 4 to 5 in one step. I stood there holding two loose ends of fabric that exactly replicated the picture in Step 4, but there was no way this tangled mess of fabric was going to turn into the bowtie in Step 5. Not without a miracle.

I tried a bunch of things, and the results did not in the least look like a bowtie. And the more I messed with it, the more wrinkled it got. Not to mention the havoc it was having on my frustration level.

I looked at my watch.
15 minutes.

Ok. A little bit of a panic, but I've got time.

I tried to psych myself up again, but the futility of thinking that psyching myself up to tie a bowtie would actually result in successfully tying one made me laugh. It was as ridiculous as trying to will myself into growing a third arm.

That realization actually made me a bit sad. I looked to my left. The pre-tied bowtie with the adjustable strap sat in its box, mocking me. I gruffed at it and turned back to the mirror. No way. No way was I wearing a pre-tied clip-on bowtie to my friggin wedding.

I looked at the stupid instructions I downloaded from the internet and gave that a snide sneering look as well. How the hell was I supposed to go from the mess of fabric in Step 4 to the perfectly tied bowtie in Step 5? Why keep that missing step a secret?!

I sat down on the floor, a bit disheartened, a bit frustrated. I stared at myself in the mirror, my wrinkled bowtie drooping around my neck like a dehydrated sea cucumber.

Then Markhl poked his head in the room to see what progress I was making, saw my face, said a word of encouragement, and then left. He didn't know how to tie one either.

I let out a long sigh, and decided to give it one more go before resigning to the clip-on.

Step 1...