My husband Michael and I have a lot more in common than being smart, queer and adorable. We both studied feminism in college and adopted it as a lifestyle. We love long walks across the city, even in the middle of January. We both love kids and want to adopt in a few years. (Make no mistake, this blog is just preparation for my gay dad blog.) We’re both kids at heart, even, who love to watch cartoons, read comic books, and play board games. I think a big part of the reason for our youthful mentality is that we are both the youngest of three as well; him with two older brothers and me with two older sisters.

One of the most fun and interesting things about marriage is that you may, as in my case, join a whole new family in the process. Michael’s immediate family lives in Florida, and while they’re certainly a lot different from my family, they’re also quite a bit the same. My sisters are 13 and 14 years my senior and I have loved being an uncle to my now teenage niece and nephews. Michael’s siblings are closer to our age. My brother-in-law Ben and his wife Evan have two little darlings under 3 and it’s so much fun to be the uncle of toddlers again.

Last weekend, Michael’s oldest brother Dan married someone who can only be described as his perfect match, Kara. She is the deputy director of the historic site called Spanish Point in Sarasota, Florida near where Michael grew up. Kara and Dan planned the wedding on their home turf at Spanish Point, a place where Kara had helped plan dozens of other weddings over the years. Their planning process seemed even lower stress than ours, as Kara’s insider knowledge guided her in knowing what she wanted and what she didn’t want in a Sarasota wedding.

After posing for some pictures with the family, and while waiting to pose for more pictures with the family, Michael was helping his brother keep our niece entertained outside, dancing, sitting on benches, getting back off benches — you know, typical toddler stuff. I stepped out to join them, just as Michael was squatting down to talk to our niece. We all heard a loud rip.

Now, my husband has a history of ripping his pants at weddings. In fact, this would be the third time it happened, but the first time where it happened prior to the wedding actually starting.”That did not sound good,” his brother Ben said, stating what we were all thinking and what Michael’s face was clearly emoting.

Michael was clenching his backside with a look of absolute horror and astonishment staring straight at me. “How bad is it?” I asked.

“Bad,” he said, wide-eyed.

I rolled my eyes, figuring that this would somehow be at least partially my problem to solve. “Let me take a look.” As he unclenched the ripped seam for my eyes only, I realized exactly what the look on his face was about: there was his bare ass staring back at me. No, he hadn’t taken the occasion of his brother’s nuptials to go commando, but rather our lack of clean laundry when we left for Florida meant he only a jockstrap to wear with his dress pants, which were now ripped open from waistband to where the sun don’t shine.

As much as I wanted to keel over laughing, there was a wedding happening in about an hour and I snapped into crisis mode, told him to stay put, and ran into the cottage where the pictures were being taken. My mission was to find a needle, some thread or some safety pins to save the day. Thankfully, another guest had brought all of that, so I dashed back outside and told Michael to get his bare ass into the house; all the while, no one had noticed what was going on beyond “Michael’s ripped his pants again.” He walked sideways up the stairs careful to cover himself and we went into the bathroom, where I pinned the fabric together and furiously hand-sewed the seam again, leaving the safety pins as double-reinforcement.

(Side note: This is a place where his and my family differ quite a bit. Had this been a wedding in my family, by the end of the night, especially after a few cocktails, I would have told everyone about the Janet Jackson level of wardrobe malfunction. But I’m still new to this family and I want to make sure I don’t get kicked out. So I kept to this myself knowing all well that I would tell everyone about it later, mentioning to Michael, “I can’t wait to tell this story at Cocktail Club.”)

Sure, Michael’s episode meant we missed a few brotherly photo opportunities, but the wedding was on. Even as the cold Florida winds, a side effect of Winter Storm Jonas, had guests in full on hats, scarves, and gloves, it was absolutely magical. (But seriously,\, 45 degrees in Florida means break out the winter parkas. Please note the pashmina table below — somebody Pinterest that now.)

I would be remiss not to mention how beautifully written my new sister-in-law’s vows were and how their friend officiated a heartfelt ceremony telling the story of Dan and Kara’s great love. As expected, the food  was exquisite, the drink superb, and the company even better. We caught up with uncles, aunts, and cousins; snuggled with our niece and nephew; drank Manhattans; laughed and told stories with family friends; ate a whole bunch of pie. And As Michael put it, the metal pins against his thighs were a constant reminder that he should not squat or bend lest anyone else in our family be subjected to any full moon other than the one above us in that night sky.