I still needed to come up with a colour scheme as I was constantly changing my mind. Did all brides do this? I needed to decide and stick to it, no going back. I did this, though, when we had our engagement party decided on the decorations in the venue when it was so dark that you couldn’t see them anyway, and I ended up paying a lot more for gold and black decorations, plates, cutlery when I didn’t even like it. So, lesson learnt from that, I think. I think I have answered my own question.
October
Another month gone. This was the second open evening wedding event at our venue I had been too since booking. This time I wasn’t going to be distracted by free cake, prosecco, honeymoons or photographers, I was on a mission. I had written a list of things I wanted to do. I was going to take my tape measure to measure up as I would like to have bunting hung around the reception room but don’t know what length I would need. I also wanted to time myself from entering the room to reaching the end of the aisle, as we still hadn’t decided on a song yet, as our song that meant something to us seemed to be everybody’s bloody wedding song lately. I knew it shouldn’t matter, it was what we wanted, but I wanted to change it and had whittled it down to three, which was a start.
It was October and yet again I changed my bloody mind about centre pieces. These centre pieces would be the death of me. Fake flowers were the way I was going, definitely, but what to do with them, fuck only knows. I wanted fishbowls with floating sunflower heads, but I realised it wouldn’t be the same with fake flowers, so that was off. Then I was thinking just to use jam jars or empty tins and place the flowers in them. I would just need to cover stems if in jars. Or I could put them in sand, would that be good to weigh them down too? The other idea was to have log slices with three jars and tealights all around. They actually had a table set up like that at our venue and it looked pretty and Edward liked it too. We sat down at the table to get a feel for whether guests would be able to see each other on the round tables and the centrepiece was the perfect height. We knew it would need to either be very tall or low, so this worked well. Had I finally decided? Log slices and jars, it was a lot less common than fishbowls, anyway.
Debbie had been pissing me off, too. She had been really distant and not bothered with me. I didn’t know what her problem was but when I asked her, she said she was fine. You know that everything is not fine when someone says that. I should have been used to it by then as she had always been like it. I tried speaking to Edward about her but he just said, “I don’t know why you bother with her, and he was right. She was the most two-faced person ever. She was always slagging off her close friends to me, but then the next thing you know she was saying how wonderful they were on social media and I thought, you have got to be fucking kidding me, right. It had made me think about her in a different way I did wonder if she was slagging off me to them too. When I texted her, when she eventually replied the conversation was cut short. It was like she didn’t want to talk to me. Maybe she had got stuff going on, who knows. I knew there were a lot of people who suffered in silence me included, could be why she blew hot and cold all of the time. I was beginning to wish that I had never asked her to be my bloody bridesmaid, with her fake blonde hair and boobs. I knew my dad might have been pissed off, but I could just imagine her sour face in the photos with her overloaded, filled lips. Her moaning about her hair, the dress, the food; she was so high maintenance.
I had arranged a meal for close friends, bridesmaids and close family on both mine and Edward’s sides, just women, so we could talk about the hen do, bridesmaid’s dresses etcetera. no men allowed. When me, Chynna, and Debbie walked in, I could see her beady eyes scoping the place out immediately, she even picked up a wine glass as we were shown to our table to inspect for water marks. Debbie had only met my friends at family parties, but not when we were sober, sitting down for a meal.
When the waiter came over to take our drinks order, she spoke to him so slowly, like he was stupid and incapable of taking an order, that I knew he would probably spit in our food. I had tried to explain this to her, and you would have thought she would listen, but no, of course she wouldn’t. When the waiter brought the drinks over, she said loudly, “Finally.” He heard and I found myself mouthing the word sorry to him. I wanted the ground to open up, embarrassed was an underestimate, and the mood on the table was pretty much the same.
Debbie
