Thursday, January 20, 2011
When I was a child, all I ever, really, really, really wanted to desperately be, was an adult. But then I got there and it didn't turn out to be quite as much fun. For starters I couldn't eat a bowl of mushed up sugar and butter without being sick.
Similarly, as a Miss, I’ve always thought I wanted to be a Mrs. All the more so since I got into a Serious Relationship and started fantasising about my wedding day.
A friend of mine recently got married, a small affair. Sprinkling of guests, no white dress, no cake. ‘It’s not the wedding day I want Kim, it’s the marriage,’ she said.
Well, she can stuff her smug marriage. I want the wedding day. I want the dress, all eyes on me, I want the bridesmaids and the speeches and all my loved ones under one roof.
Oh, and the husband. Would be nice if he’s there I suppose.
And so when Gareth decided to start photographing weddings (www.bloombrighter.co.uk - way better than any of the stuffy perverts you’d find in the yellow pages) I thought I could pretend I was a supportive girlfriend, by accompanying him to a wedding fair (so he could scope out the competition) while actually setting my own agenda: Operation Dream Wedding.
No sooner had we walked through the pearly gates of the Marriot Hotel, me hiding my non-existent diamond ring beneath a pair of gloves, I was asked to sign my name and our wedding date on the dotted line.
Oh – our wedding? Well, 7th June 2012, I gushed.* Might as well play the part, right Gareth? I gently placed my hand on his chest as us young loved up fiancés are taken to doing.
‘What?’ Gareth replied, already bored.
He was clearly not going to enter into my Jennifer Aniston rom com fantasy, but I didn’t need Gareth. I signed the form, got my free Mars bar and headed into the abyss.
It was a thoroughly depressing day. Vultures trying to cash in on what is supposed to be a simple declaration of love. Apparently you need petals strewn beneath your feet, a poker table, a chocolate fondue, a babysitter, a fitness coach, a fancy car. And if you don’t buy all this crap, you’re clearly not in love.
Ignoring the stale, depressing atmosphere that felt like it had been lured from 1987, we headed for a photographer stroke videographer for a chat. ''All your filmic needs in one! We’ll film your day and give you a terribly cheesy montage you’ll watch once, and we’ll give you stills too! Hurray!''
‘When is the big day?’ asked the geriatric as we arrived at his perch.
‘I’m not sure,’ Gareth replied. ‘I haven’t decided if she’s the One yet.’
Jennifer Aniston never had to put up with this. The poor man looked at me in complete dismay. Definitely the first time he’d heard that line.
‘Oh darling, will you stop,’ I said, tutting and shaking my head in a sort of ‘what will we do with him’ sort of way. I left Gareth to be talked into a videographer for our fake wedding and made my way over to the cake stand.
Well, they were giving away free samples.
So what did my day at the wedding fair teach me? Have I changed my philosophy? Will I now take marriage more seriously and make my Big Day medium?
Will I eck. I’m still going to swing from the chandeliers, I’m just not going to book them at a wedding fair.
* Date plucked from thin air. Just checked. It's a Thursday. Do people marry on a Thursday?