Weddings are rum old events. People seem to make them in to a big ‘thing’ when really it’s just people you like (and relatives) in a room getting drunk.
The planning for our bash appears to be going well. There have been no fights and the ‘wedding police’ haven’t been called out once.
Here are a list of things we’re not fretting about:
- The flowers, can anyone remember the flowers from a wedding ever?
- Seating arrangements, put people next to people you think they’d like.
- Readings, find something we like, get someone we like to read it.
- Wedding speeches, keep them short, put in jokes, no being nasty.
- Food, people are mostly there to get drunk.
- Booze, Our friends aren’t demanding ‘In a glass’ is about as fussy as they get.
This means when people ask, ‘How is the wedding planning going?’ I don’t have a good answer, which sounds like I don’t care.
However there are some things I am fretting about/have fretted about:
- Are my suit trousers too tight? Or too loose?
- When I first tried my suit trousers on did I take to long so the tailor (who was out of the room) think I was up to something naughty?
- What is the correct thing to say to the tailor when you’ve finished putting on your trousers?
- If the tailor isn’t responding to your calls, is it okay to shout?
- If you are mid-shout when they quietly enter the room from a door you didn’t see is it best to apologise? Or style it out and pretend you are a bit deaf suddenly?
- If you went with the deaf option, should you shout for the rest of the fitting to stay in character?
- Also if you bump into a friend in the street, right out side the shop, should you stay shouty to not spoil the ‘story’ you’re maintaining.
- Even if it’s quite a long chat and someone else turns up?
On an unrelated note I’m a bit scared to go back to the tailors for my final fitting. I wonder if I can get someone else to pick up the suit for me, after all I have lost my voice after all that shouting.
Last night I went out with a chum, one who has decided she will be known as the Editor.
This was arranged ages and ages ago before I’d even met the Theatre Producer, before even the New York Trip.
But, well it just so happens that the Editor is the mutual friend who I know the Theatre Producer through. Life is weird sometimes eh?
Because of this there may have been a bit of polite information gathering going on in-between drinking galleons of champagne and downing oysters.
Yes, I know sometimes my interrogation methods can seem a bit tough but I get results.
I’m like the Jack Bauer of dating, but with better trousers.
When I was young
I never needed anyone
And making love was just for fun…
Sorry. When I was young, I used to read about Samurai. Look I was young and male, so I was genetically programmed to think that Samurai are cool.
I mean they are men, with swords who dress in an excellent way. They would stride around in good trousers, write poems and then totally chop someones head off in the name of honour. Skill.
Anyway, Samurai were feared because they didn’t care what happened in battle. They had the power of meh. Using special Samurai logic they had worked out that any fight had three possible outcomes.
1) The Samurai defeats their foe. Epic Win.
2) The Samurai gets all stabbed up to death leaving the foe to steal their hats. Epic Fail.
3) Both people in the fight get stabbed up and die, possibly covered in cherry blossom. Poetic Fail.
So most fights would end in a fail, and thus a Samurai could go into battle with the sort of casual indifference usually reserved for teenagers. I can’t remember why this made them so fearsome but it definitely did.
Dating is a bit like that. Why? Because any date has four possible outcomes.
1) You and your new chum fall passionately in love, marry and spend the rest of your lives being smug. Epic Win.
2) You really fancy your date but they aren’t into you. Unrequited fail.
3) You don’t like your date, but they love you. Stalker fail.
4) Neither of you like each other and so you both pretend the date never happened. Epic Fail.
So since your date is 75% likely to not go well, why stress about it?
Just enjoy the evening and be glad it’s not going to end in actual death. Or perhaps if you are a really lucky la petite mort.
The Fez visited. It was a success. The cottage was approved of, even if she did say it was the most manly house she had ever seen and said that I lived like a 12-year-old boy with a wage and no mum. I think this was a compliment more than a criticism.
I took her out for a few meals at the good places in town. When we didn’t go out we cooked together and we even managed a couple of walks. I learned about the different times of day for cake. Apparently a sponge cake is for during the day and a cheese cake is for the evening. I also realised how nice she is to be around.
A previous GF used to make me really stressed the whole time and there was none of that. Time with the Fez is easy and pleasant. Also the Fez didn’t mind if I picked her up, she liked the fact I could lift her with one arm and move her as if she weighed nothing. The previous ex used to get really angry when I did that. It was weird.
The Fez also started calling me Mr Tumnes. Let’s not go into why, I’m sure there are less sexy pet names but I can’t think of them right now. So I aimed for Tom Cruise and ended up as a slightly creepy satyr who doesn’t wear trousers and hangs around with kids. Brilliant.