Last night I dreamt that it was the day before our wedding and Brad’s Mum was decorating the venue. In my dream the room in which we were getting married looked like my old school hall and even had the long black felt curtains that hung either side of the stage. Brad’s Mum had tried to pull the ancient, moth-holey curtains together but they didn’t quite meet in the middle so she’d creatively placed a Christmas tree in the gap. When I walked into the room and spotted the unseasonal offering, Brad’s Mum, noticing the horrified expression on my face, exclaimed brightly “I’ve decorated it in your wedding colours” as if that was going to make up for the bloody great festive monstrosity taking pride of place at a wedding in October.
This is my current life; panicked dreams about the wedding venue, Facebook posts about finding a florist (yeah, the florist is in the same camp as the wedding invites; they’re sitting together chilling out around the fire, toasting marshmallows and wondering when Brad and I are going to show up), conversations about confetti and suits and rings and what the bloody hell kind of music we should play when we sign the register (the most recent song I had to veto was “I’m too sexy” by Right Said Fred. See what I have to work with?).
Yesterday, instead of
watching an episode from our current boxset whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears as only a soon-to-be-married couple should be, we were talking about our top table.
This is no mean feat for us because we have a shit load of parents. Honestly, we take parent numbers to a whole new level, you won’t be able to move at the wedding for people whose answer to the question “How do you know the Bride and Groom?” will be “I am/I live with one of their parents.”
Both of our sets of parents are divorced and all of them are remarried or have new partners. We love them all but you just can’t fit 8 parents, 2 best men and a bride and groom on a top table without the table having to snake around the room like some sort of abstract human dado rail.
We gave up the conversation after about 20 minutes and went back to the
box set sweet nothings. Well, we’ve got seven weeks to worry about the seating arrangements, it’ll be fine…
Table plan: “Is anyone sitting here?”
Wedding invites: “Nah, buddy you’re fine. Grab a beer, Florist has just gone to get some more marshmallows.”