The big day

I have no idea what I wrote last night but I do know I'm too scared-slash-embarrassed to read it. Don't drink and blog is the lesson there methinks. The only reason I was half-cut was due to me going out for dinner and then pub with my brother and housemate Kes so I had a legitimate excuse not to attend my step-dad's sisters hen night (if that convoluted family situation makes sense? Forget Jake, it's extended family as result of divorce town). Hen nights, along with wasps, are one of my biggest fears. Groups of women stumbling around with veils and learner signs and pink cowboy hats with the addition of alcohol? Do not want.*

In fact, I don't really understand any of the wedding stuff that, as a women, is meant to excite and enthrall me. Like when I watch any tv show or film and the wife-to-be walks out in her wedding dress at the wedding dress shop and everyone gasps and goes 'you look beautiful!' I always think 'she looks alright but a fancy white dress is a fancy white dress'. Because, really, a fancy white dress is a fancy white dress. Or when females freak out that their wedding invitations were supposed to be printed on bone card and they've actually been printed on ivory card... Don't get me wrong; I understand perfectionism, I'm a complete control freak, I have very specific ideas on what contitutes aesthetic pleasingness but I can't ever imagine giving a shit about whether a bit of card is this white or that white. I can't imagine spending hours deliberating over what the central flower display is going to look like. Or what shade of violet to make the bridesmaids dresses. I have been to plenty of weddings were this sort of thing obviously has been extensively discussed and it's always lovely but, for me, I'd rather spend the THOUSANDS of pounds it costs to have a big do and fly my nearest and dearest to Las Vegas for a drive thru wedding performed by Elvis and then roadtripping across the states (because, as the first test of marriage, surely surviving traveling for an extended amount of time with them
is a good indication for how the rest of the marriage will go? i.e. if neither one of you ends up dead then it should carry on for another couple of decades at least right?). I just wonder if I'm genuinely an aberration against man and God or whether it's another 'culture makes you feel weird if you don't want to spend the cost of a house on one day of your life' thing.

Having said that, even my heart melt a little when I saw this because who doesn't want their groom to do a somersault down the aisle?


[Via everyone on the internet everywhere but especially Molls... She Wrote and Videogum]

*According to my moms it was actually a lot of fun. Which just proves I'm an uptight heinous bitch sometimes but, when all is said and done, I would rather have a 10 minute conversation about the joy of picking spots than go to Tiger Tiger and watch middle aged ladies get drunk. That's basic Sazz science.