When the wedding march swells to signal the beginning of a bride’s walk down the aisle, and I am among the guests, I’m prepared. Tucked into my handbag is a purse-size sewing kit complete with needle, lengths of black and white thread, and a nail clipper for snipping threads. That little kit has come in handy many times over the years.

Beth’s wedding took place in December in the early 1990s. Earlier that week, the bride’s gown, a lovely ivory confection with restrained Southern Belle overtones, precipitated a small dilemma. It had fit beautifully when it was purchased that summer. But several weeks before the wedding, Beth discovered that working out had increased the size of her biceps. The sleeve bands no longer fit around her upper arms.

I had shortened the gown in November and was wise enough to save the fabric that had been cut off. Thus, I had material with which to make the sleeve bands bigger. All of that tinkering gave me a good feel for the dress’s architecture. I didn’t trust it one bit.

After the wedding, the bridal party and guests converged on a hotel where the reception was held. It was then that the dress turned ugly.

Less than two hours into the celebration, Beth grabbed me and hustled me into the ladies room.

“What am I going to do?” she wailed, half-laughing, half-crying.

Someone had stepped on the hem of her dress and it had torn at the back waist seam. But worse, while Beth had been dancing with exuberant abandon, the zipper had separated and could not be repaired. The only solution was to sew Beth into the dress. I produced my trusty little sewing kit and the deed was done.

Later, when there was a lull in the revelry, I cornered Beth’s new husband.

“Got a jackknife?” I asked innocently.

“No,” he replied, mystified.

“Can you borrow one?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Because in order to get your wife out of that dress tonight, you are going to have to cut it off her.” I explained what I had done.

“We got steak knives for a wedding gift,” he said, indicating the gift table.

“That’ll do it.”

At another wedding that year I was confronted with a very different crisis.

The guests, including me, were already seated in the church. The start of the ceremony was minutes away when the best man strolled nonchalantly down the aisle and tapped me on the shoulder.

“Come with me. We’ve got a situation,” he whispered quietly. My worst fear was that the groom had bolted. But the problem was much more prosaic. The bottoms of the groom’s pants pooled on the floor around his feet, several inches too long. The bridal shop where he rented the tuxedo had goofed – big time.

“Take them off,” I commanded, knowing there was no time to lose. The groom looked around for some private place to undress, but there was none. “This is no time for modesty,” I hissed. “I know what men look like in their underwear. Give me the pants!” He handed them over and I set to work to remedy the situation.

The bride had to wait at the church door for 10 minutes while I stitched, but after that things went according to plan – if you don’t count the sudden torrential shower just as the bride and groom arrived at the reception. A sewing kit couldn’t remedy that situation, although the umbrella I always keep in the back seat of my car was a big help.

Snippets

. The Cross County Quilters of Bethel will present its 16th Biennual Quilt Show 10 a.m.-4 p.m. Friday and Saturday, June 24-25, at Middle Intervale Meetinghouse. Admission is $4. Those who wish to display quilts in the show should call Lee Barth, 743-6468, or Shireen Vincent, 836-2918.

Ardeana Hamlin may be reached at 990-8153, or e-mail ahamlin@bangordailynews.net.