Wedding Blues

by | Nov 22, 2010 | Uncategorized | 0 comments

Wedding Blues

 

We spent Saturday night in country Victoria to attend the wedding of one of my gorgeous step-brothers and his incredibly gorgeous new wife.

The weather was perfect, the happy couple were adorable but for the M-Gs, it was all a bit of a fiasco.

Here's why:

  • Got away an hour later than planned – behind before we even started. Bad omen.
  • Arrived at motel. 'Beautifully appointed rooms' – ha ha ha – NO.
  • Serious sinus headache coupled with super-hunger sends me on a mission to find a pharmacy and a Maccas. Find former – no parks ANYWHERE. So frazzled by parking situation that give up on latter.
  • Still driving around wondering what to do when petrol light comes on. Excellent.
  • Back to motel, seriously running late so shower and attempt to put self together for rapidly approaching ceremony.
  • Realise have put on some serious beef since last wore frock.
  • Suitcase unsurprisingly offers no emergency alternatives so squeeze beef into frock anyway.
  • Hair fail. Seriously considering a bald future…or possibly wig collection.
  • Make-up fail. Wha??? Make-up is my thang. Bad, baaad omen.
  • Admit defeat and set about dressing kids who am certain will look cute as fuck.
  • Kids DO look cute as fuck. As does the mister. Running too late to get some snaps though. Boo.
  • Ready! Load Zee in pram, B wrangles LD and off the M-Gs go, The Little Mumma tottering in very sexy, very high heels.
  • Wolf whistles ensue as walk along street – realise ill-fitting dress is riding waaay up in back. Excellent.
  • Arrive at supposed ceremony venue – strangely empty. Oh fuck, this is where reception is to be held, NOT ceremony.
  • "Just check invite" says B. Forgot invite at home. SHIT.
  • Ring everybody we know. Nobody answering. They're probably at a wedding….
  • Reception place tells us ceremony is a short car trip away.
  • Race back to motel, throw everyone and everything in car.
  • Petrol light is on. FAAARK!
  • Ceremony due to start almost 10 minutes ago. Drive like crazies and hope for the best.
  • Arrive and ultimately race bride up the (mercifully) long aisle.
  • Beautiful, beautiful nuptials ensue.
  • Still wildly self-absorbed about fatty/bad hair/make-up disaster and bruise on arm that no amount of make-up could disguise – yes, no-one noticed beautiful bride, only giant arm bruise.
  • Back to motel before reception, kids tired and hungry. Start bedtime routine.
  • Time marching on – vague idea about possibly taking turns going back and forth to reception while one stays at motel with kids. Very flawed plan.
  • Leave for reception. B stays behind with LD and Zee. Neither one asleep.
  • Feet already killing in sexiest heels on planet. Bad omen.
  • Champagne. I love life.
  • Food and more champagne. Happy.
  • "Where's B?" Oh shit! B!
  • Race back to motel with beer and foil covered meal for B. Boob Zee into sleepy land.
  • Back to reception. More champagne. Tra la la!
  • Dancing!
  • More champagne.
  • Weeeeeee!
  • Midnight. 27 missed calls. Bad omen.
  • Ring, ring – insert irate B here accompanied by hysterical  Zee.
  • Back to motel, tail tucked firmly between legs…
  • In bed. In trouble.

 

Notes for next time

leave on time, check invite for all pertinent details and then check again, fuel up car before big trip,  organise babysitter (and train baby to settle without the mumma), don't beef up (or try on frock before packing in suitcase – but really, don't beef up), don't walk into door handle (seriously) a week before event where arm bruises are not de rigueur, drink less champagne (or more – hard to say) and most important of all, pack dancing shoes!

 

Hello friends

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I’m Angie!  I mum. I write. I wife. My husband would say this is the correct order.  He’s so neeeedy. I live with my family in Melbourne, Australia, where I complain about the weather for 90% of the year – but I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Except maybe in Lake Como, waving to my neighbours George and Amal each morning.

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