They could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle...
I have been promising for some time now to do some posts about my wedding and the hilarity that ensued. I'm starting with the wedding rehearsal, but will pick out a few particularly special "themes" and post them over the next few weeks.....
On the day of the wedding rehearsal, Mr Fix and his best man* were three hours late. I had already arrived at my parents house a whole week in advance (ostensibly to help out with preparations, but mostly to annoy my mum and dad while they did the important stuff like setting up marquees, etc).
So the remainder of the wedding party were at least detained by some interesting distractions. Apparently there had been an escape from a local prison. So the police were stopping all cars to make sure that none of the inhabitants were in fact, you know, legging it Prison Break-stylee. Mr Fix and AV were doing nothing of the sort, but the process of checking every single car on the Princes Highway can make the traffic flow somewhat desultory.
Our friend Red however was stopped by the same police roadblock and through the course of his license check was made to pay a parking fine incurred at Monash Uni some six years previously by Mr Fix’s sister. Red was somewhat responsible for drawing the police’s attention – as he was driving a vehicle tricked out for the Targa rally complete with advertising and badging, a car that one might argue was only barely road-legal. Luckily the police had EFTPOS**.
When this erstwhile group of ragamuffins arrived at my parents’ house after my bridesmaid and I had spent the best part of two hours getting slightly boozy and cackling wildly (causing increasing distress to our marriage celebrant, but more about her later) the rehearsal commenced.
Firstly, our celebrant was most irked about my father’s decision not to give me away. I found out later that she had followed him around the house and garden for about twenty minutes trying to talk him into it. Which is amusing when you consider that Dad and I had the following lengthy conversation about it:
Me: Hey dad, did you want to do any of that walking down the aisle or giving me away thing? It’s up to you really.
Dad: Nah, not really. You’re not mine to give away.
Me: Cool.
Then Mr Fix basically refused to take any of it seriously. I suppose there is a question about whether or not you need to rehearse walking out of a house onto a verandah, I would argue that you don’t. Or in any other situation I would, except for the fact that Mr Fix stuffed it up by not coming to get me and walk with me from the house to the verandah. He was so charming though, observing that “I’m always going back to get my bag”***.
It’s these kind of things that combine to make me love him so much.
Next installment: advice on choosing your wedding celebrant
* Best man AV in fact spent some time trying to talk us out of the marriage on the basis that we were too young and also that he knew better. While slightly drunk at his engagement party some years later I may have implied that he was due to receive a tirade both barrels from me about his lack of readiness for the impending wedding. I demurred, because I am lovely, and also because both he and his dear wife are lovely also.
** This is not a word of a lie.
*** In his defence, this is actually true. Although mostly the bag is a black backpack, not his long-suffering partner.
On the day of the wedding rehearsal, Mr Fix and his best man* were three hours late. I had already arrived at my parents house a whole week in advance (ostensibly to help out with preparations, but mostly to annoy my mum and dad while they did the important stuff like setting up marquees, etc).
So the remainder of the wedding party were at least detained by some interesting distractions. Apparently there had been an escape from a local prison. So the police were stopping all cars to make sure that none of the inhabitants were in fact, you know, legging it Prison Break-stylee. Mr Fix and AV were doing nothing of the sort, but the process of checking every single car on the Princes Highway can make the traffic flow somewhat desultory.
Our friend Red however was stopped by the same police roadblock and through the course of his license check was made to pay a parking fine incurred at Monash Uni some six years previously by Mr Fix’s sister. Red was somewhat responsible for drawing the police’s attention – as he was driving a vehicle tricked out for the Targa rally complete with advertising and badging, a car that one might argue was only barely road-legal. Luckily the police had EFTPOS**.
When this erstwhile group of ragamuffins arrived at my parents’ house after my bridesmaid and I had spent the best part of two hours getting slightly boozy and cackling wildly (causing increasing distress to our marriage celebrant, but more about her later) the rehearsal commenced.
Firstly, our celebrant was most irked about my father’s decision not to give me away. I found out later that she had followed him around the house and garden for about twenty minutes trying to talk him into it. Which is amusing when you consider that Dad and I had the following lengthy conversation about it:
Me: Hey dad, did you want to do any of that walking down the aisle or giving me away thing? It’s up to you really.
Dad: Nah, not really. You’re not mine to give away.
Me: Cool.
Then Mr Fix basically refused to take any of it seriously. I suppose there is a question about whether or not you need to rehearse walking out of a house onto a verandah, I would argue that you don’t. Or in any other situation I would, except for the fact that Mr Fix stuffed it up by not coming to get me and walk with me from the house to the verandah. He was so charming though, observing that “I’m always going back to get my bag”***.
It’s these kind of things that combine to make me love him so much.
Next installment: advice on choosing your wedding celebrant
* Best man AV in fact spent some time trying to talk us out of the marriage on the basis that we were too young and also that he knew better. While slightly drunk at his engagement party some years later I may have implied that he was due to receive a tirade both barrels from me about his lack of readiness for the impending wedding. I demurred, because I am lovely, and also because both he and his dear wife are lovely also.
** This is not a word of a lie.
*** In his defence, this is actually true. Although mostly the bag is a black backpack, not his long-suffering partner.
posted by gigglewick at
11:56 am
4 Comments:
Oh I do love me a series, I shall settle down now with a big bowl of popcorn and some lindt balls.
I am looking forward to the one about the celebrant, as I have never yet met one who isn't sleazy and inappropriate.
And, if you worry about a lurker from 'Australia' on your site meter, it's me, reading your archives on a sickday. They made me laugh.
Did you Dad not give you away because he doesn't believe in the patriarchal tradition of handing women from father to husband, or another reason?
This sounds like a lovely wedding already...all relaxed and everyone having a good time.
Actonb,
Lindt balls! Where are mine, already?
KR,
Yes, my dear father not a big believer in the trappings of patriarchy*. This is what comes of being surrounded by strong women.
* or patriarchy in general.
What is it with people trying to talk people out of weddings? A few years ago, I went to a wedding that was held on the end of a pier i Queenscliff. Half way through the ceremony, some random stranger went past on a jetski and yelled "Don't do it".
On the other hand, no-one ever even considered trying to talk me out of marrying my Honey Bear. I think they were too busy being mystified at how I got so lucky.
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