I’ve just got engaged (yeah!) and entered into a brand new era of my life. And no, I’m not talking about the joy of making a lifelong commitment to my lovely other half; all that’s well and good. But the whole spending-the-rest-of-our-lives-together stuff has faded into the background, completely overshadowed by a far more intense and nerve-wracking experience than plain old love. Like being hurled into a deep, cold plunge pool, I’ve gone from basking in the sunny warmth of ‘We’re engaged!’ into the Planning Our Wedding Day phase. And short may it last.
A few months ago I was utterly uninterested in weddings – with good reason. I don’t like having my picture taken, hate making speeches and am definitely not on board with being emotional in front of big groups of people (you can take the girl out of Britain…). I’ve also always had a distinct, if not-very-well-formed notion that there’s something horribly un-feminist about the whole shebang. Being given away? Wearing symbolic white? Taking my fiancé’s name? Not for me, thanks.
None of that’s changed. Except for most of it. I do think engagement rings are sexist… but mine seems too nice and sparkly for that. I can’t see any reason why brides should wear white and not their grooms, but I’ve been sent a snowstorm of links to awesome dresses, and uh, now I want one too. A really expensive one. What on earth is happening to my personality? I’m still not fussed about invitation cards, floral arrangements, centerpieces and the rest of the wedding minutiae that everyone seems to know so much about, but day by day I can feel myself getting sucked into it all. One minute I’m my easy breezy ‘Wear whatever you want, sweetheart’ self, the next minute I’m screaming ‘You mean you don’t even CARE if your wedding cufflinks aren’t SPECIAL?’ (Well not yet, but it can’t be far off.).
One recently-engaged friend, whose wedding guest list is starting to peer up at the quadruple figures said wistfully when I told her our news ‘Just make sure you enjoy the telling people part as much as possible, won’t you?’ And then added ominously, ‘Things get a bit more… tense later on.’ Seems like she might be right.
I suppose the only way through it is to keep my inner Bridezilla under wraps for as long as possible, and not listen to too much ‘advice’ from other people about what I should and shouldn’t do. (That includes my editor’s thundering command to name my first born after him.) Oh yeah, and try and remember that other thing, what was it, something about the post-wedding planning era. Right, got it! The ’til death do us part bit…
