Wednesday, 21 December 2011


Some time ago, I met P.  Despite looking like an electrocuted elf thanks to an ill-advised haircut (word to the wise, if you have thick hair that consumes any and all humidity then a short bob is not the style for you), P was obv dazzled by my sparkling personality (or boobs) and was v pleased to pash me in a student pub after a very large number of beers on both our parts (I know, young A was completely hopeless and had not realised that her fresher 5 (or 10) kgs and poor life choices were attributable to beer.  Older-wiser A recognises this fact so choses to mix her beers with vodka sodas because THAT will obv help with getting a case of the skinnies).  Soundtrack: Xtina's "Dirrrty".  Lighting: dark (if I'd seen the shiny polyester shirt which may or may not have had a dragon on it some different choices may have been made). Some years later, P screws up his courage to take advice from Beyonce and put a ring on it....SO....

I'm getting married in February.  To P. 

I would like to think that it's not an OMIGOSHWEDDINGSTRAVAGANZA scenario, but I'm beginning to think it has started making me act like an asshole. 

Case in point: I spend time reading wedding blogs.  LOOKATALLTHEPRETTY. I suspect this makes me a HUGE wedding-asshole but this specialpartypalaver has opened up a whole new world for me.    I know, I know - the expense, the obssessive need for DIY and 'craft', the alternate-brides who are all so hung up on bunting and mason jars and fake moustaches on sticks and the preppy-brides who are all so hung up on monogrammed effing napkins = sheer godawfulness.  it's like an insidious creep: the more you look, the more you see a detail or two that you think would be lovely on your special day, the more that thought becomes 'well it's practically necessary' on your special day, until you cycle back into why the eff I am calling it 'our special day' because VOM. 


This is not to say all wedding blogs are bad, au contraire interwebs. But they make me do things like agonize over the 30 metres of yellow gingham bunting that might just make a lovely backdrop for the super super wedding vows I am writing (so far they're effing lyrical: "I, A, take you P" thatisall) and that, my friends, qualifies me as an asshole. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

Tell me your deepest secrets. Or your opinion on the Oxford comma. Or your favourite pre-dinner drink. Anything really, as long as it's not mean.