By 10 p.m., the dance floor was a sweat-soaked mess of flailing arms and Beyoncé. Mallory’s uncle started a conga line that looped through the dining area, knocking over a centerpiece of succulents. “I didn’t care,” she says. “I was barefoot with a glass of Malbec in my hand.”
Cultural reference alert: The DJ played a mashup of Frank Sinatra’s “Chicago” and Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky.” “It shouldn’t have worked, but everyone screamed,” Mallory laughs. “That’s Midwest magic right there.”
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Numbers like 182 mean someone will always be in the bathroom when the cake is cut or the toast is made. Mallory and Alex skipped the formal bouquet toss and instead had a “living room” style exit—they stood by the door and hugged everyone goodnight. “It took 45 minutes, but we got to thank each person.”
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Practical tip: Assign a friend with a walkie-talkie to track the vendor timeline. Mallory’s sister, who had one, called the photographer away from a second cocktail just before the first dance. “She saved us from a $500 overtime fee.”
