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Saturday 21 July 2001
I was never one of those girls who, since
the age of five, knew exactly what their wedding day was going
to be like.
During my "I am never getting married,
marriage is for suckers" early 20s phase I was extremely
proud of this fact. Proud to be happily defacto and content
to go through life living in sin (and really, who could ask
for more?), secure without needing a legal document, happy
to be alive at a time when it would be fine to have children
out of wedlock - and if we did so, then a good number of their
school friends would be in the same double-barrel-last-name
boat. No problem. But then last December I got all carried
away after a big family party - so carried away that I proposed
to Phil in an unplanned moment of bumbling ridiculousness.
And what was he going to say? No? Of course not!
And here I am with 8 weeks until D-day
wondering if I had better start writing a bridal list and
then start crossing things off that list, perhaps I should
start getting just a wee bit organised.
So I just made an appointment with the
hairdresser for a style on the day...
me: "errr...yes well it's for my wedding...",
her: "oooOOh! Gorgeous! So what are you having done??"
me: [aware that all the other hairdressers in the place are
now looking at my head and picturing curls and flowers and
stringy bits that hang down that are somehow meant to look
romantic] "I dunno...err... ummm.. Nothing special I
guess..." and there I was suddenly wishing I was one
of those girls who had a scrap book hidden under my bed full
of clippings of do's and dresses snipped from bridal mags,
some dating back to their early childhood. Then I would have
breezed in months ago and said "Yes ! The most important
day of my life! I would like to book out the entire salon
for three hours at 10am. I have compiled a short show-reel
of hairstyles for you to swot up on beforehand. I will be
bringing my cluster of jewel encrusted hair accessories and
the champagne for the brides maids!".
Hmmm.
And what do I wear? We are getting married
in the city's registry office and (call me cold and heartless)
but a big meringue dress for a five minute ceremony (for any
length of ceremony really) is hardly my style. I think the
registry office calls for a more... errr... urban ... gritty
kind of romanticism. The whole idea of a registry office brings
images of war-time Britain or the great depression to mind
- getting married for real true love despite the world
collapsing around you, photographs taken on the front steps
wearing your best suit, white gloves and a smart hat while
air-raid sirens wail through the air. Minimum fuss, maximum
love. As you can see I was raised on way too many Australian
TV mini-dramas. Link
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