So the night we’d been waiting for had finally arrived…

At last, we’d managed to escape from our wedding reception at 1am, resisting calls to go to the pub and fleeing the Al Pacino-like maître D’ who had been barking orders at us all evening (including some inordinately complicated instructions about crossing arms and offering each other champagne to drink).

This was it.

We were shattered, excited and nervous. There’s nothing like the pressure on Christians for a perfect marriage night. From the bride of Christ to the love-drunk couple in Song of Solomon, you’ve got a lot of metaphors to live up to.

Plus there’s all the desire/ desperation/ guilt/ disapproval/ downright fear (delete as appropriate) you’ve associated with sex for years to try to rationalise as you abandon yourself to legitimate intimate relations.

And, according to the books I furtively read as a teenager (or my interpretation of them anyway), waiting for marriage means the sex will be instantly uh-may-zing, right?

Of course, all this pressure is a great way to make you perform in the sack…

We’d had plenty of advice about this moment from our marriage prep leaders and friends. Thankfully, our marriage advisors had told us they wouldn’t subject us to a towel laid out with sex toys on it, like some friends of theirs had been greeted with (marriage prep can get very weird).

But running a bath to relax and get in the mood was definitely a good idea.

Fifty billion removed hairpins later, we gratefully sank into the bubbles, grinning with newlywed bliss and anticipation.

Ring, ring.


Ring, ring.

Ignore it.

Ring, ring.


My groom clambered out of the bath in a flurry, wondering what emergency could possibly disturb us in the honeymoon suite, at 2am on our WEDDING NIGHT.

It was his brother, who was staying with my family for the festivities.

“Have you got the number for Charis’s parents? I want to give it to a girl I’ve just met in the pub.”

I’ll spare you from any more details about that night. Suffice to say I’m not sure threatening to murder your brother-in-law is a good tip for wedding night foreplay. *

I know I should consider myself lucky – it’s probably an urban myth, but I’ve definitely heard one about the best man who thought it would be hilarious to hide under the bed and jump out at the couple, and ended up trapped there all night. Ouch.

And here are some more wedding night fails, as shared by our brave threads community:

Nathan – Three-and-a half years ago, I was best man for one of my housemates… The bride woke up in the middle of the night and was in such an exhausted state that she forgot that she had got married the day before and was surprised to find a man in her bed. This surprise led to her screaming at the top of her lungs, waking both her new husband and a few of the neighbouring rooms. The result of this was that the hotel staff were called to ensure everything was ok!

Matt – Broke the bed in our hotel room on my wedding night.

Lucy – My parents’ friends had a funny wedding night story – she forgot to take her pill on the morning of the wedding so he had to hunt round for ages for an open chemist to get some condoms!

Steve – Not being arsed as we were both knackered and waiting to the next morning.

Tom – I drove my sis and hubby to their wedding night hotel, carried their bags to the suite… Then I realised where I was… and ran.

Lisa – The groom ate so many oysters (a natural aphrodisiac) that he spent the whole night being sick while his bride cried all night for her mum.

Shannon – I have a honeymoon fail. We got up from our first married night and my redneck husband took me to a gun show!!! For real.

Katherine – My friend woke up to find her hands around her new husband’s throat! Scary…

Hannah – I know of a couple who ran a bath and then fell asleep. They woke up two hours later to find water seeping into the bedroom – they didn’t tell anyone, they just packed up their bags and checked out straight away!

* Love you really, Ross. But looking forward to your wedding night!

Written by Charis Gibson // Follow Charis on  Twitter

Charis is half Greek Cypriot, half Northern Irish so she’s genetically programmed to love food and a good yarn. From crime reporter to communications manager, she’s a wordsmith by trade, a God-follower by soul and recently a mum by nature. She’s becoming an expert multitasker and you’re most likely to find her tapping furiously on her laptop while scraping toddler snot off her cardie.

Read more of Charis' posts

Comments loading!