If someone had told me that morning that by evening Id be standing in a white shirt, holding someone elses bouquet, with a strained smile on my face, swearing in front of strangers that Id “always support their union,” Id have laughed, tapped my temple, and gone back to making my porridge while gazing out at the peaceful street. No ominous signs, no suspicious coincidencesjust an ordinary morning. But life, as it turns out, loves throwing surprises your way without warning, and it does so most dramatically when youre in slippers holding a mug of coffee.
It all started when I decided to pop into the registry office. Not for any official reasonopposite it was a kiosk selling the best hot dogs in town, and I was heading there with the most innocent intentions. The queue, the smell of fresh buns, grilled sausages, and mustardeverything was as usual. Then suddenly, a black car decked with ribbons and roses pulled up, gleaming like something out of a film, and out spilled a noisy crowd. Laughter, clapping, phone flashes, clouds of perfume, party poppersit all swirled around me so abruptly, like Id accidentally wandered onto the set of a festive music video.
Then one of the bridesmaids, in a bright green dress with sequins, dashed over, grabbed my arm with the confidence of someone whod known me forever, and declared, “Here he is! Our second witness!”
I even glanced behind memaybe they meant someone else. But no. Everyone was staring at me, some whistling, others clapping louder, and suddenly I was the centre of attention, like an actor whod stumbled onto the wrong stage.
“Wait, Im actually just” I began, but it was too late. They dragged me inside, shoved a boutonnière into my hand, and positioned me next to a tall bloke in a suit so crisp it looked like hed been ironed into it. He seemed unsure whether to laugh or brace himself.
“Hold the bouquet, smile,” the bridesmaid hissed, adjusting my boutonnière as if she did this daily. “The real witness is stuck in trafficyoure saving the day. Just dont blink too much, or youll look like an owl in the photos.”
I wanted to refuse. Really. I even opened my mouth, but at that moment, the wedding march blaredloud, triumphant, echoing through the hall. The doors swung open, and as if on cue, the procession moved forward, pulling me along like Id always been part of the script, the only one who hadnt read it.
Honestly, it was one of the strangest moments of my life. There I was, standing beside a groom who kept fidgeting with his sleeve and checking his watch like he might miss his own wedding, and a bride who looked ready to cry from both joy and terror. She kept taking deep breaths, biting her lip, her veil trembling slightly. I didnt know their names. I wasnt even sure I was holding the bouquet rightwhich hand, at what angle, or if I looked like a complete impostor.
When the registrar asked the witnesses to step forward, I did and thats when it hit me: I was living a sitcom scene. Everyone was watching. Cameras were rolling. The photographer clicked away like he was capturing history. And me, a man whod just wanted a hot dog, was now part of someone elses weddingofficially, with stamps and ceremonial music.
The wildest part? No one noticed the switch. Not the groom, not the bride, not the aunties in the front row clutching tissues. I signed the register with confidence, posed for photos with the newlyweds, and then the green-clad bridesmaid handed me a slice of cake and a glass of champagne as if it had all been planned from the start.
“Thanks, you saved us!” she said, laughing with a wink. “If you ever need a favour, just call. Youre one of us now.”
When I finally left the registry office, I had a bouquet in my hand, a napkin with the bridesmaids number in my pocket, wedding music still ringing in my ears, and the certain knowledge that porridge wasnt happening that day. Instead of a quiet morning, Id got an impromptu celebration, a glass of bubbly, and the feeling that Id accidentally starred in someone elses rom-com.
