Also, something else bothering me was this whole plus one thing. Everyone that you invited who was single, did they get one? I hadn’t a clue. My sister asked me, and I just said it depended on numbers really, as it was costing a lot as it was and I suppose it depended on who it is. A lot could happen in a year, couldn’t it? You could fall pregnant and have a baby in that time. Oh god, what if I fell pregnant and was too fat to fit in my dress?
Had to have a crisis meeting in the end with our wedding planner, needed to ask about cutting costs, gluten free, lighting and wanted another look round, really. But of course there had to be a problem, they were only refurbishing the whole hotel beforehand. What if it wasn’t finished in time or looked hideous? Why didn’t they tell us this when we paid the deposit? They assured us that it would all be fine so I had to trust them I guess. Didn’t really have another choice now did we?
That stress aside the whole who to invite part was stressing me out. I had written a rough list of about two hundred people, but they were just people I wanted to invite. The problem was the plus ones also as you were paying for someone to have a plus one when you may not have even met them. You wouldn’t pay for your friend and their date to eat and drink all day at a restaurant, so why would you at a wedding?
I thought I could probably write a book on this subject. So immediate family not a problem, loved them and spent a lot of time with them. There were some family members, aunties, uncles and cousins, that I saw a few times a year. Aunties that had been coming and going all my life. Cousins who I spent a lot of time with when little but now hadn’t spoken to in years. Who did you invite? Mum and Dad were divorced but luckily still were on pretty good terms. They could be in the same room as each other, just about. Sometimes I thought fuck the rest of both the families, which I knew might sound harsh, but I thought, who did I see? Who tried to make an effort? To make matters worse, on both sides of the family my mum’s and dad’s, there was aggravation which had pros and cons, as there were less people to invite. But my mum was a fence sitter so spoke to all her sisters and brothers, but one brother didn’t speak to two sisters. One sister didn’t speak to the other and so on and so on. It was the same on my dad’s side now, which I thought I would never say as they had always got along. But now things were getting juicy. One sister had an argument with a brother then another sister stepped in, then the kids started and now it was all chaos like my mum’s family, one not talking to the other. Which made it so difficult when it came to who to invite. I needed help. Did I just invite everyone as then I wouldn’t look like the bad guy and then hope that most of them didn’t turn up?
The Dress
Most women would say that this was the most important part of the day and it needed to be right or the day would be ruined. But I had watched enough reality TV to know that wasn’t the case. Their dress could be shit but they still managed to have a good day regardless.
For me my main priority was being able to go for a wee in my dress, sounds stupid I know, but I didn’t want to be having to worry every time I went to the loo that I needed a chaperone to help me, not at all glamorous. I had even had a look online to see ways to wee in your wedding dress. Have a look if you don’t believe me; they are good reads. All joking aside, I had never dreamed of the perfect dress since setting the date. I had to be more practical. I did have a look at a few online as you do, and nosed about a few shop windows, and realised I was not that fussy. I thought most of the dresses I had seen were pretty in one way or another, and I thought only by trying them on would I know what I liked and what suited me. It wasn’t the dress that worried me, it was what the person who would be wearing the dress would look like. Me!
I had always been a worrier ever since I can remember but since setting the date, my worrying had gone into overdrive.
I was the sort of person who worried if I was not worrying about anything. I then had to find something to worry about. I wished I was the sort of person who didn’t give a fuck, and I had tried to change the way I thought by doing cognitive behavioural therapy, which didn’t help, I think mainly because I wasn’t honest enough with myself. But in the end I thought it was just the way I was, and I had got to accept it.
Today was no exception. I was going to try on wedding dresses for the first time. For most women this would be a happy day, but I was anxious, I think more because my mum and sister were coming, and my mum had no filter, so much so she once told a wedding dress shop owner at a wedding open day we went to that one of her two-thousand-pound dresses looked like a cheap pair of net curtains. I could have literally died
