DEAR ABBY: Your readers are sending in their crazy wedding night stories, so here's ours:
When Rick and I married, Dec. 14, 1985, we had only a weekend to honeymoon, so we took my aunt's advice and rented a condo on the beach in Rosarito, Mexico. After the wedding, we made the two-hour drive, arriving at the gated entrance after dark. We asked the Spanish-speaking guard to point us in the right direction to our rented unit, showing him the street address.
Upon finding our condo, we could not imagine why the key wasn't in the potted plant by the door where the owner promised it would be. Also, my aunt had told us that the unit was right on the beach -- this one was across the street. Finally, Rick climbed the balcony and entered the condo through the sliding glass door; then he opened the front door for me. We had brought along groceries and even logs for the fireplace, so we made a delicious dinner and built a romantic fire in the fireplace. It was a perfect wedding night.
The next morning, I decided to go outside and try to find the key. When I looked on the wall above the potted plant, I saw a ceramic plaque with the condo's full address -- a completely different street name than the condo we had reserved! I don't think I have ever washed dishes faster than I did that morning! We made the bed, cleaned up the place and ran out the door as fast as we could -- scared to death, but laughing hysterically. We drove as fast as we could to the right condo -- just a few blocks down the street.
We never did find out who owned that first condo, but if the owners happen to see this in print, "Thank you, and we are sorry!" -- KRISTA AND RICK TOBERIO, SAN CLEMENTE, CALIF.