It Fits!

Despite nearly being sick in the changing room, I would just like to say that the dress fits! I went out and had a well deserved comfit of duck leg with creamy potatoes, ate half a packet of gluten free chocolate fingers and had a glass or five of wine. But I will be back on it this week.

 Also, I have chosen my shoes and they have wings on them. Now they are a pair of wedding shoes with a difference. Buy them here.

To give or receive?

I have discussed traditions in weddings somewhat in the past few blog entries, but I began getting interested in one particular one when BF asked for something which is distinctly non traditional. 

My colleague (and friend) K has just announced her own engagement which happened while she was away in the mystical orient with her boyfriend. She is defying tradition, not by having a small wedding, but because she will not be changing her name to her partner’s, for both professional and personal reasons.

Which I think is entirely sensible. 

"I hope it's mine"

Names were changed originally not merely to imply ownership of the female partner in the ‘good old days’, but also to ensure continuous heredity through the male line. This has always seemed an impractical way of doing things in my mind. Any woman could pass off a child as a different man’s than her husband, but it takes particular cunning for her to pass off another woman’s child as her own. What with all the carrying and birthing etc. it doesn’t matter who the father was, you can see when a woman is pregnant and watch the birth to ensure you know what line it carries. Paternity tests in the Middle Ages were harder to prove. The Queen doesn’t change her surname for work reasons; why should we ordinary folk have to? 

Mr and Mrs Pratt?

My Aunt and Uncle both have doctorates with different surnames for professional  reasons, and have found it a pain on occasions when they are put in a twin bedroom and even at times, separate rooms because hoteliers assume they are not a couple. I can see why it is practical to take your husband’s name. I hugely respect my Aunt’s and K’s decision to keep their professional surname AND all my friends who have all become Mrs XYZ. What did emancipation and the vote give us after all but the right to a choice in these things?

Another consideration is taking on the new name if you don’t like it. Another friend with her wedding in the pipeline (they are dropping like diamond encrusted flies at the moment into engagements) hates her future surname. I can understand that. I once went out with a man called Mr Pratt and remember thinking before we’d even gone on a first date (pointless worrying, as it was a no go from 3 seconds after meeting him) that he’d have to change his name to mine eventually if it went well. I would never be Mrs Pratt.

BF would like me to take his name. My name sounds rather pretty with his surname and frankly my father’s surname, despite being a very old name, has enough little curly haired tots carrying it on already. I’ll change it for him because he would like me to. I am ambivalent and am happy to keep my own name or change it. Why should it therefore bother me?

And this is when he surprised me. Also, he said, he wanted an engagement ring please. I hadn't even thought a man would WANT an engagement ring. I laughed it off until i realised he was serious. I was surprised (BF isn't the type to wear jewellery in my mind) but it seemed fair enough. I got one after all; why shouldn’t he? 

So I went on Etsy, the only place where I could track down a ring in the metal he wanted. This was Niobium – a super conductive element  named after Niobe of Ancient Greece (famous for boasting about her children in front of the Gods who then killed them all), and which happens to be the metal he wrote part of his Pd.D. thesis on. Did I mention BF is a Dr of Clever Stuff? Lucky I am not one too if I go by my Aunt’s experience.

He also wanted it in purple.

I don’t know what my feelings on this were – well, I know what they were on the purple, but I mean the ring itself. Practically, his ring was comparably cheap compared to mine despite the fact that I had to have it commissioned specially. I had his ring size from our wedding ring file so that was easy. It also turned out that his brother and dad both had engagement rings; I liked this. It was an L family tradition, and one day it might even be something we passed on to our own kids, or our nieces and nephews if the kid thing never happened. Plus it is an intensely personal gift with a lot of happy associations. 

£120 Male Engagement Ring, H Samuel

Male engagement rings. What a lovely, if slightly untraditional, idea to pledge your troth before marriage on both sides – especially if you have a long engagement in front of you. 

£3500 Male
Engagement rings, Beeverbrooks

And more common than you might think. Smooch (the company we eventually bought our wedding rings with) told me that they often sell male engagement rings and that the number of rings they are selling with diamonds and other precious stones in them is on the rise steadily. Now the high street are getting in on it with H Samuel and Beaverbrook to name a few selling male engagement rings. Ascending to a mind blowing £3500 for a platinum diamond ring (although most are around the £300-800 range) they are yet another wedding accoutrement which may soon turn into a ‘must have’ item. I got off lightly with Niobium by the looks of it, although H Samuel has one as low at £75.

£75 Tioro Male Engagement ring, H Samuel 

Also, looking at some of these rings, how will a man wear it? A woman slips her wedding ring on under her engagement ring; both items tend to be fairly slim and dainty. Men’s rings are bigger, heavier and bulkier in the main. A man surely can’t fit all of that metal on his hand? This Daily Mail article (no, I am not a reader but the article is relevant!) by Sara Nelson states that the ring will be transferred to the right hand when the wedding band is placed on the left hand. Most men will therefore go from wearing no jewellery to having it on both hands within a year or so. And if a woman proposes first to her man and buys him a ring, does she get a ring as well after the proposal has been made? Are two rings to be the standard? It’s opened up a mind boggling can of wedding etiquette worms for me.

Another friend and his boyfriend also recently got engaged (not all of my friends are planning weddings you know). They are (obviously both being men) not a heterosexual couple. I asked him how they did the whole ‘ring’ thing. Both saw wedding rings they liked but neither wanted to wear two rings. So R had a wonderful two piece necklace made for his proposal and his BF proposed with the ring that R wanted for his wedding ring. R has bought him an engagement ring in return and they will then use both rings as their wedding rings. Simples.  

Anyway, back to the niobium ring. I had it made and shipped (HMRC you are horrible people charging me so much extra customs charge from the US) and I proposed to BF romantically in the pasty section of M&S Food services on the A34. There was no element of mocking involved. Well, maybe a bit.

Our engagement rings

A few weekends later when he went to Prague for his friend’s Stag Do though, I think I got it. There was a certain, despicable part of me that rather LIKED the fact that BF had a stamp saying ‘taken’. In the main, it was a badge to other women which said he ‘belonged’ to someone just as my ring was my personal ‘taken’ badge to other men.

Is this how men feel when they give us an engagement ring? Do they feel the same smug, odd emotions of possession and belonging that I did when BF put his own ring on?

It’s an interesting post-modern question – why are women who balk at changing their name for philosophical and feminist reasons happy to have this symbol of unity and implicit ownership on their finger? Do men feel the same way about wearing one? Is there an inherent ownership which comes with an engagement ring in the same way as changing your name does, or are these merely the husks of once important, legal and symbolic traditions?

Whatever you think (and here comes what I always say) it’s your choice. And who has the right to judge what you decide to do as a couple? No-one. You do what the heck you want!

For me it is not a stamp of ownership to either of us, but one of pride. I love seeing his ring on his finger and he says he feels the same way. That can’t be bad. So here’s to new traditions, even if they are going to push your budget up even higher!

What's in a few pounds here or there?

There is nothing like a wedding to make you freak out about the way you look, especially if it’s you who is getting married. I’m bad enough at friend’s weddings. It takes a very secure woman to not worry about whether their dress will fit or whether they will look their ‘best’, especially when you have 130 people taking photos of you, not to mention ones you have paid an extortionate amount for.

Women spend tens, hundreds or thousands on their appearance for their wedding day according to Soundvision. Add up everything that makes you look 'pretty' and you have one hell of an eye watering beauty list.

Like Popeye, I take a certain optimistic yet pragmatic approach to my looks: I am what I am and yes, I do (in the main) very much like the way that I look. My body and I have had a checkered relationship. Like sisters who spend most of their time together arguing, we understand each other’s advantages and faults and accept them as part of our daily life.

On some days my thighs and I are not on speaking terms. When I lie on my back with my legs against a wall above me however, I admire them greatly. I am not thin. Neither am I fat. I would describe myself as ‘tall but solid with fat in the right places’. BF would describe me as having body dysmorphia and that I look lovely the way that I am. I don't believe him wholly.

Solid. Makes you think of a cow, doesn’t it. I am definitely solid. M always said I could one day be ‘willowy’ but I’ve never quite managed it. I liked food too much and exercised too little.

Thanks to an enjoyable, if unsuccessful, career in filmmaking, I have a lot of wonderful friends who can do wonderful surface things to make you look just wonderful. Mrs MW is doing my adjustments for my dress, P (who I lived with years ago and who used to work for a very famous London Salon) is doing my hair. I’m ok at my own make-up and have the added bonus of getting to keep it all afterwards having done a morning course at the Coquettes on a Groupon offer. So all in all, I am confidant that the facial area and the over body part will look good on the day.

It’s the bit underneath that has me worried right now.

It was only when I went for my dress measurements (bridal shops measure you to decide what dress size they will order about seven years, sorry seven months before your wedding) that the true desperation of the situation sank in.

I knew that I had put weight on since going out with BF. Before we met I was at my slimmest; almost-but-not-quite willowy. Then I started eating and keeping up with a man and it all went south. Before I knew it I had happy fat, definite love handles and was kicking myself a bit. And as anyone who has put on weight will know, as you get heavier the urge to exercise lessens. A true paradox.

So I am standing in the charming dressing room at the lovely Ellie Sanderson where I bought my dress, in my underwear thinking, ‘my god, I’m sure I got RID of that a year or so ago but apparently it’s back. And it’s worse’. Accacia has tied a ribbon around my waist as a reference point (or what there is of it – it sort of is merging with my hips and chest) and is now measuring me gently with small, cold hands and shouting out awfully high numbers to her assistant. My friend N (Girl friend of the Best Man) has come with me for moral support and can hear every word. I’m feeling vaguely embarrassed. I’m also quite mottled as it’s January and cold outside.

After I put my clothes out and emerge feeling like I did when I picked up my first round of A-Level module results ( I got a C and an E), it turns out, I am a couture 18. I feel like I got an F. F for Feminism just Died a bit inside me that I even care. Turns out I am not so happy with my body after all. You can parrot on all you want about wedding dresses being ‘ridiculous’ sizes, but this (and the sight of myself in my under roo’s in that unflatteringly massive mirror) has done something to me. Something has shifted in that dressing room. And I don’t mean my side fat.

We meet the boys for a drink and I am despondent as I sip my wine. Not as much as poor N who has to listen to me whitter on about how fat I am for about six streets. The pork scratchings turned to ashes in my mouth that night.

But I am never low for long. Accacia has said that we can either get me the dress that will fit my waist NOW but will be massive in the bust or I can aim to loose enough weight to go one size lower. That means loosing 3 inches around my waist. That is actually quite a lot of inches – a mountain to climb at that stage but you think that six months is ages. Turns out it isn’t.

I ring Mrs MW to ask her professional dress making advice – go with the one that fits now or one which is a size smaller? Professionally, her advice is, ‘Sod it, go for the small one and eat less.’ So I do. This is apparently against all other professional wedding advice (see this article from Bridal Guide) but life is just not worth living if you don’t take a few risks. This is what I was telling myself when I ordered it.

So here I am several months later, one gym membership in my wallet and with my dress fitting next Saturday morning. The dress that I am hoping will do up, let alone fit.

I can’t say that I am skinny; I am not. I can’t say that the weight has ‘fallen off’ because it hasn't. I have however been slowly toning up and loosing weight. I have also lost 2.5 inches from around my waist and am ½ an inch away from that 31 inch waist band.

Looking good is a pressure but honestly, I have come to the conclusion that you should only do any of this rubbish if you want to. While I may have decided to spent £150 on some random wrap thing which I have always secretly wanted to do an am using this as an excuse (Contour Wrap – I am very excited!), it doesn't mean that you have to. Unless you want to. If you don’t want to have a professional manicure, then don’t have one! If your dress fits when you try it on, don’t have it altered. What is the point in spending £400 on a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes in white that you will never wear again (thanks Frugality - top tip!)?  

Finally, here are my top ten, 100% biased, unprofessional top tips to future brides, bridesmaids, grooms or just people who would like to loose some weight and get fit without going mad or over doing it in the process:

   1)  Gyms are really expensive! My god they are so fricking expensive. In my local area, I have the choice between the County Council Gyms, LA Fitness, David Lloyd. Shop around. We wound up choosing DW because they had the combo of a pool, gym and classes, were around the corner and frankly, were the cheapest. At £39 a month for a 6 month contract, they are a bargain compared to other gyms pricing up at £60-80 a month on a year long contract. It is worth it. I am sure you can do it on your own but there is something about ‘getting my moneys worth’ which keeps me going….

2)  Get a personal Trainer. I mean it. I was never one of those people who thought having a personal trainer was worth the money and then I found Simon. Simon is a genius. He is encouraging, pushes me hard without making me want to cry and is very reasonable price wise – find out some prices and they will surprise you. Plus I get to say ‘Simon says’ at least once a day to BF. Get someone you feel comfortable with and who understands what your goals are. They will even work you out a diet plan. It is 100% worth the effort and cost.

3)  Go to classes. I love classes!! Zumba! Boxercise! Bodycombat! So much better than trudging around the machines in a boring routine, they will work every inch of you and make sure that you are toned all over instead of just doing loads of cardio. You can also work at your own pace and get what you want out of them.

 4) Just stop eating shit. Seriously. No crisps, no cake, no biscuits, no jam. Do you need ice cream on those strawberries? OK, you do, but do you need that much? Had a long day and need a glass of wine? NO! You don’t! Just by cutting out crap you’ll find you seriously help yourself along, especially if you can give up booze. I actually cut out sugar. Seriously. I make my own muesli with oats, dried fruit, some flaked almonds and some truvia now. Didn’t see that one coming….

5)  If the diet sounds too good to be true, it totally is. Do I think raspberry keytones have made ANY difference to my weight? No. Has drinking buckets of green tea made me thinner? No. Not that I don’t take them. BF calls them ‘expensive wee’. What has made me thinner is eating brekkie, not snacking, having salad and chicken for lunch and an uber healthy meal in the evening. It’s depressing. I hate it. But it works. My Fitness Pal is a free app and will track your calories and also your exercise routine. Plus you can make rude comments on all of your friend’s pages. 

6)  Measure inches. Sod the weight. It’s an indication of nowt as BF would say. Keep an idea of it sure, but if you’re doing what I’m doing and aiming for visits to the gym at least 4 times a week, then you are not going to loose much weight. What you are going to do is loose fat and gain muscle. Which is good. Read this article on Muscle Vs Fat. Basically not only does muscle take up less space and look better but it also means you burn more calories just doing nothing by increasing your metabolic efficiency. BONUS! So any girls out there who think weights are for boys, think again!

7) Be realistic. My bingo wings are not going to go, however much Boxercise and Bodycombat I do between now and the wedding. Sad but true. Do I worry? No! I am just going to have to accept that I have slightly plump arms. At least I HAVE arms.

8)  Loose it slow and keep it off. And don’t stress about it. It won’t go any faster for you fretting (sorry to all of my friends who have constant weight updates – FYI, I am fretting a lot). Your future husband doesn’t give a shit if you have lost weight. I almost guarantee he didn’t propose to you just to have you turning into some food crazed dragon woman. He liked you how you were before enough to buy it. Loosing weight is for yourself and yourself alone.

9)   You’re going to look epic no matter what. Really, you are.

10) Don’t believe everything you read. BF is a scientist and I am not. He never accepts things for what they are at face value whereas I do. When I say ‘potatoes are bad for you’ he comes back with this article which actually proves that is tosh. Yes, potatoes are not bad for you! Stop saying they are. Imagine what else you are told is going to help and is actually merely causing you misery! Do some proper research when people tell you to ‘cut’ things out. Mainly it’s about moderation, not prohibition.

 This has been a slight deviation from the subject but needless to say, I am very nervous about fitting in my dress. Please wish me luck for a week’s time when I go to try it on and I will be keeping up the good work by heading to a quick boxercise class tonight before leaving to visit my parents and try to avoid drinking too much wine. Sad times.

I just hope I can keep it up long enough.

Managing Expectations

I work in customer service in a company where people have very high expectations of the experience that they receive. I came there from the Royal Opera House where I worked as an usher and later an usher manager. Unsurprisingly, the House also had very high customer anticipations. I also happen to lecture bored looking students on ‘customer expectation’. It came as no surprise therefore to find the wedding game has as many (or more) problems with managing high expectation as any other business.

You know and I know that this blog is ridiculous for many reasons. The very fact that I am writing articles about one day in my life and whether I will cope with it without turning into some kind of insane killing machine is in itself pretty absurd and not a little insulting to our intelligence. But the more I go on, the more the whole thing fascinates me. I am genuinely enjoying this indulgent journey into the day of possibly the Highest Customer Expectation any person will ever experience, whether they are bride, groom or [insert position near to the bride or groom] other. And I think I may have got to the bottom of why this one day, one in the average human’s 25, 000 days on the planet is such a massively joyful, stressful, ball ache to arrange. It all comes from what we Expect.

Customer Expectation is what the customer thinks should happen and how they think they should be treated when receiving it. Let’s be clear, expect is different to want. Wanting is something you would like, but understand you can’t necessarily have. Expectation is something you form the intention of definitely owning.

‘I want you to have this on my desk by tomorrow’ vs. ‘I expect you to have this on my desk by tomorrow’’.

Which sentence would make you more likely to get that piece of work for your manager done?

Here is an example for you. If I walk into a 5*hotel that I have paid a lot for having made a room reservation a few days prior, I not only want the following things, but I also expect them from the overall experience that I have been sold. I expect that I should be greeted in a clean and calm reception by a professional and well trained person, I expect to be told where my room is, I expect that my room is what I have asked/paid for and I expect that this will be done at the speed I want. I expect a close to perfect experience.

If I walk into a £29 a night motel however, certain elements of my expectation will be very different.

Similarly, if I am getting married I expect the day that I want, or I expect the day I have in my head at least. Every person has a picture of what they want: 

It doesn’t matter what you or I think of any of these pictures. If these are what you expect from a wedding, I cannot change that. Your expectations are yours and yours alone. You might not even know them yet until someone shows you a wedding cake and you think, ‘I really can’t see the point of a wedding cake, do we actually need one?’

The difficulty with wedding expectation is, I think, simply down to the huge amount of factors external to an individual’s expectations.  I might not be able to afford what I ‘expect’ to have, it might not be what my partner expects to have, if I’m not paying it might not be what my or my partner’s parents expect us to have and it certainly won’t be what everyone else expects to have at their own wedding or the wedding which they believe is how things should be/look/be done. When we plan a wedding we are always compromising on our expectations or having them challenged, be they for financial, personal or practical reasons.  And we are constantly managing expectations, whether they are our own or those of other people.

How we deal with these expectations is another matter. If I am dealing with a customer whose expectations of my business are higher than the service I can offer (e.g. they are going to complain whatever I do) then I would tell my students to mind the following points:

•       Effective Listening

•       Diffuse negative emotions

•       Use assertiveness

•       Negotiate

I would advise my students to keep your voice low, make eye contact, and explain calmly but firmly why you haven’t been able to provide them with 400 thread count Egyptian cotton when they paid £29 for the room, then try to work out where that expectation has come from. I am not saying that this will solve the problem (the human mind is a complex organ), but you will at least have given yourself some insight into why this person has built up the expectations they are now expressing.

Everyone has an expectation of what they think a ‘good wedding’ entails. For me it is mainly about a free bar. Really; it’s a free bar which floats my boat. Don’t judge. For other people it’s the food. Or they might have a bug bear about strapless dresses in a church or the order of service being a bit shoddy or the fact that the organist can’t play three notes together (actually, I’ll own up to that one too). Some people expect to only have close family to the ceremony while others expect to be at the ceremony as that’s the bit they enjoy the most (still on the free bar here). And I can guarantee those expectations are raised when it comes to anyone you are speaking to when you tell them about your wedding:

“But you HAVE to have….”

“ You can’t get married without a…”

“ You’ll regret it if you don’t have….”

When my colleague and close friend told me about her wedding and how she didn’t want a first dance I actually responded with, “But you HAVE to have a first dance!!”  We’re good enough friends that she gave me the eye and I retracted it quickly feeling pretty ashamed, especially when I found out she’d had the same response from about three other people. It’s not helpful, it isn’t constructive and actually, it’s a bit insulting. Why should she have a bloody first dance if she doesn’t want or expect one but everyone around her does?

And this is a minor expectation. What about the big ones? 

I know for a fact that M’s expectations were that I’d have a big wedding. Imagine how her expectations would have been challenged by my going to Vegas to be married by Elvis instead of the local vicar? I think she would have supported me if it was what I had always wanted, even if it didn’t match up to her expectations, but it would have definitely been a struggle and a disappointment.

It would not just have run contrary to M’s expectations. Friends who have known me for all of my life and who are highly traditional would have definitely made their opinions on this clear (as only these kinds of friends can) and I am sure that the expression, “But you have to’ or ‘You can’t do XYZ’ would have been forcibly drummed into me whenever I visited my parents. It wears you down and the temptation is to give in because it's easier. Don't start me on Shoes vs. Sandals....

Everyone has an opinion. Once you accept this is how it is and that people will always have different expectations to your own, it’s how you deal with these expectation conflicts that count. My advice is to make a game plan between you and your fiancé about what you both expect from your wedding day before you tell anyone and then make it clear what you’re having with no compromise from the start as my colleague has. But if you aren’t that organised like BF and I you have two choices:

1)

  

   2) Effective Listening, diffuse negative emotions, use assertiveness and if you feel you have to, NEGOTIATE!

I am going to leave you with my favourite expectation concerning weddings.

I asked my niece of five to draw me a wedding dress. I was expecting something big, something white and something magnificent (or  something  like a dress that Elsa from Frozen would wear). The results were surprising. 

Goes to show.

If only.....

The other night I had a wonderful dream.

I met David Bowie in the middle of a hot, sultry Souk Medina somewhere that might have been Morocco (or it might have been the fake Tunisian market made of plastic that BF and I visited last holiday, it's hard to be sure). He looked like a mix between his middle aged self and how he looked in Labyrinth. But without the tights. Sadly.

I don't quite know how we got talking but in a few minutes we were old friends. It was awesome.

He said he'd totally DJ the wedding and if I ran ahead and got him a latte we'd confirm the details. So off I ran, through the crowded streets of the unnamed Medina, dodging through people and carts of chickens, constantly thinking, "Bowie is going to to DJ my wedding, you can't let him get away. Hurry, Hurry!"

Turns out David Bowie isn't a fast walker - I was waiting for about 10 minutes with two lattes bought from a cafe stall for him to make his INCREDIBLY slow way through the crowds. Had I lost him?! No, there he was, blonde hair sticking up looking like a rock star, zen encircled Buddha. He was walking at about the pace your great-granny might, but 100% on purpose and deliberately not in a hurry for anyone. So cool. And he totally sat down and chatted through the playlist.

All I could think was "my Best Woman J is literally going to wee herself when she hears this" while we chatted. J has loved Bowie practically from birth.

When I woke up and excitedly told BF the good news. I was a tad disappointed when I realised my sub-concious had made it all up.

On the other hand it has put me in a wonderful mood all week. And it cost not a penny. Priceless.

In which I Loose it Three Times

Forgive me Blog Spot for I have lost it. Thrice now have I turned into that which I swore I would not. Bridezilla happened. She took me over and she made me her puppet.

Poor Bridechiller. She sat, huddled in fear, as the gargantuan monster she so swore to defeat rampaged across the landscape, destroying all in her path, strewing things in her wake and leaving a trail of confusion and mayhem.

To be fair, this wasn’t entirely my fault. And it also was.

BF was prepared to propose and he was prepared to marry me. Was he prepared to do it when I wanted him to….? Possibly not. Yes, I will admit reader; I massively pushed him into it.

BF still maintains that he had a plan. Sort of. Kind of. At some point. He was going to ask me at some time in the misty future, put it that way. Then he proposed. After we were engaged he wanted to leave it a few years for the wedding and I (knowing how my anxiety would build to fever pitch over one year, let alone two) was determined to marry the following year. We set a date within 48 hours of getting engaged. For some reason I felt I had to nail him down or we’d do that endless drifting of long term engaged couples where everyone wants to know when the wedding is but no-one likes to ask. Why? I don’t know. Fulfilment of a life plan? I enjoy a party? I would like to be married?

Anyway, long story short with minimal naval gazing, BF spent two months getting his head around it. By the time he had stuck his head up and gone ‘hey up babes, I’m ready to arrange stuff!’ we’d booked the church, chosen the venue, I’d practically bought a dress and had picked the colour palette. In all fairness I had tried to get him involved and he’d just gone a bit angrily vague whenever the ‘W’ word was mentioned – the way I go when a customer mentions that they read the Daily Mail. BF acknowledges this. But it doesn’t change facts that by the time he’d come to terms with it all, M and I had decided quite a lot of the main things about the wedding. We always checked with BF first of course (who would shrug and look slightly disinterested), but by the time he came out of his man cave and actually wanted to be involved, most of the main stuff had been done.

This hadn’t helped my stress levels and, having felt rightly or wrongly that I had done a lot on my own, to suddenly be told I needed to run everything we decided now by him and even find he disagreed with some things I was proposing (How could he?! Didn’t he know how IMPORTANT this was to me?! He doesn’t even LIKE flowers gnash growl flame smash), it only served to fan the flames building up inside me. All squashed up hidden away because of the unacknowledged guilt that somehow I had bullied him into all of this. What a mix of horrific emotions to keep locked up.

Added to work stress (I work in a stressful place and so does he), family stress (M is wonderful but she likes what she likes and knows how to push for it which is hard when you have a man who doesn’t want what she wants but are forced to do all the explaining to both parties) and trying to maintain social normality (no-one tells you you can’t), I was a powder keg.

1.     In which Bridezilla Makes her big Debut

One weekend in November we had had a wonderful tasting session with Harold who does a kind of Italian German fusion food – seriously lush. Both of Bf’s parents, BF, M & D and I had eaten like absolute pigs having polished off 6 courses (and several entrées) each. Afterwards, we retired to the sitting-room where we all sat around, slightly glazed, looking stunned at one another, polaxed with over eating.

Suffice to say, I can heartily recommend Pomegranate Catering for their amazing taster menu, their willingness to please and their encouragement that we were important to them. If you are getting married in the Kent area, go with them. They are great and I can’t wait to eat like a pig again at the wedding. Reminds me, speak to Mrs McW about putting an elasticated front on the dress….

So basically, we chose the menu from what everyone liked that night. Which was fine. Until we had to finalise it. Skip forwards two weekends when we were back down with my folks…..

I never knew M and would come to loggerheads over pork, but that’s what we did. M said lots of people didn’t eat pork. I said more people didn’t eat lamb (the pork was amazing – I wanted the pork), M said if we had the pork starter we couldn’t have the pork main. BF said why not. M got a mulish look on. D tried to put a word in and gave up – don’t think he cared about pork or beef. I said I didn’t want the beef I wanted the pork. Which is ridiculous, because I live for beef and am frankly ambivalent about pork.

Holy God, I swear, this is where it really kicked off.

Before I knew it I was out of my chair, screaming that everyone was ganging up on me before flouncing out and up to my room - it took 5 minutes with the word pork mentioned maybe thirty times and I was apparently sixteen again. I spread myself out on the bed (‘Like a Disney princess weeping’ I pictured in my mind) until BF came up, calmed me down and hugged me (which is, boys, what you do when your mad fiancée turns into a raging tower of insane hormones over beef or pork). It took me an hour to calm down, at which point I went downstairs and apologised. We all had a laugh, ha ha ha! And I thought that was it.

I’d never do THAT again!

2.    In which Bridezilla doesn’t like the cut or colour of your gib, Young Man!

BF and I went to look at suits. More on those later. Suffice to say we got a cracking deal on them at a local shop in Oxford. Anyway, he’d gone off with his Best Man (Bestie from now on) and tried a few on. He loved the style I liked too (win win - he looks like an actual penguin in formal wedding attire so is going for a Prince Edward style). And he fancied the dark blue. I laughed at this (ha ha ha!) thinking, ‘don’t dwell on that thought darling’ but he carried on saying it. He liked the dark blue, wasn’t the dark blue nice?

The colour palette I have picked (poor BF! I can’t even try and say ‘we’) is going to be stunning. Although the wedding is in August we are having essentially autumnal colours and calling it ‘harvest’. Think this.                                 

Then picture dark blue suits. Nooooooooooo.

But understandbly this, from BF’s P.O.V was the ONLY THING he got complete control of – what he and his ushers wore. Guess what. He still preffered the blue to the brown.

I went mental. In Oxford High Street. We stood at the traffic lights at the corner of Cornmarket and Queen’s street and just yelled at one another. YELLED.

Autumn colours and BLUE? Are you INSANE MAN?!

Well, mainly I yelled. And then he uttered the words which were sure to bring out the fangs and the claws; ‘why can’t we just change the colour palette?’ Oohhh. Ohhhh heck.

I lost it. People actually turned and stared. Poor BF. He whisked me around the corner to the White Horse and by the time we had got there, the tears had started. We sat down with a pint and had a little chat. The scales fell from my eyes.

I felt dreadful. Especially when he said he wasn’t really that bothered but just wanted to see how I’d react. Epic fail.

This would be the last time. The very last time I swore as we had a cuddle and went to catch the bus.

Until it happened AGAIN over the guest list.

3.    In which Bridezilla Appears for Act Three

The Guest List is what will test your ability to remain calm in any situation. Firstly, you know the people you have to invite. Yes, you WANT to invite them but you also know that you can’t NOT invite them. They take up half of the party.

Half.

So your 130 (which is massive for most wedding numbers) is down to 65. Add in a lifetime of friends who you have met while you were single for 29 years on both sides and then the people who your parents say you should invite (because there will be at least 10 of them on either side) and you’re out of space. Leaving 20 people who you actually really wanted to invite out in the cold.

That was one of the most incredible temper tantrums I have ever had. It took me an hour and a half to calm down, loose the scales and stop destroying Tokyo. And the sad thing is, most of it was pure frustration and lack of control. I knew (know) that in fact we will get lots of people who won’t be able to make the wedding and will therefore manage to invite a few on our second list, but when you have people asking you when the wedding is so that they can book their hotel and you know they are on the second list….awkward!

Don’t even speak to me about the fact that we have said ‘no children’.

The no children thing, to me is sensible. Not only do you have a more adult wedding but the idea of an enclosed space with a load of ragingly drunk adults and small breakable people charging everywhere makes me very nervous. Plus, we just don’t have the money or the space. We’re in our Thirties – a lot of our friends have children and we just don’t have the space for them. Plus, when you speak to most parents the idea of having a night off is much more interesting than having to look after little Jimmy, hyped up on cake and sweet food all day, then go home early with at least one of you sober.

So as we have the space and the marquee for the weekend, we have decided to do a second do on the Sunday for all people who have families and would rather come with their kids. Bouncy castle, ice cream van and I even get another frock. It can’t be all bad!

There we have it.

I think I have the solution now. First I started getting my back and stomach seen to as it turns out that they are a mess and this has helped my general stress levels. Second, I started seeing a hormonal reflexologist who is amazing and has serious helped smooth out the bumps life was causing meaning I take things more sensibly now. Karen is great. She is in Oxfordshire and is much recommended. You can find her website here.  And lastly, BF and I have slowed down. We’re trying to spend more weekends at home, more evenings at the gym or watching Futurama together. Just chilling.

I realised that you just have to sail through things, not just bump up against them until they give way.

So now, when M starts to get angry or pushes something which BF and I don’t want, whereas I would have maybe have reacted and started a fight which would have me looking like this in mere moments followed by a sobbing fit.

In fact I have tried to cultivate a general attitude to anything wedding related which leaves me feeling like this:

Look at Zen Bride. She is so relaxed she is doing YOGA in her WEDDING DRESS on a BEACH. How much more relaxed could you get?

Plus, what the hell?! This is something which doesn’t sit well with me in our sensible, enlightened culture. Why does a woman get to behave like an absolute bitch just because she is getting married? It’s absurd and frankly pretty pathetic for all women. Read this wonderful blog on Feminism and Bridezilla.

http://feministwedding.blogspot.co.uk/2010/11/bridezilla-is-anti-feminist-concept.html

It’s not fair on BF either when I go all Jackie Chang in a rage on him! He was more confused than I was all three times. M & D were similarly hurt by my increasingly aggressive rages and bouts of crying as all M wanted to do was make sure her daughter and future son-in-law had the best wedding they could have, and all D wanted was to not be yelled at.

Why the heck does it matter anyway? It’s one day in our lives; one. The birth of our first child, the day one of us gets that massive promotion, the day we buy our first house….these are things which are just as important as our wedding day and you’re not allowed to have stomping, screaming, fire breathing hissy fits over them. Does it matter if the groom suits are the wrong colour? Does it matter that the bridesmaids’ hair has fallen out or the only photo of you looking half decent shows your back fat?

We’re one of tens of weddings, all white, all as glossy and smoothly run as they can be and all trying to be perfect on that one weekend in August. There will be hundreds more that month and thousands that year. Why is our wedding so special? The only people it matters to are BF and I, with the parentals coming a quick second. Being a bride is not a right, it’s a privilege which you should treat as such. You are lucky to be doing what you’re doing, not entitled.

It’s certainly not worth upsetting my fiancée and my mother and my father simply because I can’t (let’s face it) have whatever the f*ck I want when I want it because I’m wearing a white dress.

That’s not Bridezilla; that’s just childish.