Do you wanna be a polyester bride?

So, the wedding of the century. For those late tuning in, my MiL married recently, after what seems like the most intense pre-wedding planning taken since Celine Dion had diamantes surgically attached to her skull for her nuptials.


W Day Minus Three – the shoes

I had managed to find a dress which I deemed appropriate, but could not find shoes. I finally bought a pair for $60 that to be quite honest, seemed a little bit Madge*. Oh well, who would notice and after all they were just for the one day, right? Re dress: strapless, black tulle over cream satin with embroidery, fitted to the waist with a flowing skirt to mid-calf. Quite nice, if I do say so myself (see note on Day Two).

W Day Minus Two – the gift

We had, of course, left the purchase of a gift to the last minute, mostly because we were panicking that we would choose something inappropriate. We scoured the local art gallery (disappointing) for an appropriate gift, finally settling on a Nepalese paper covered photograph album. Beautiful, stylish, the perfect thing for, you guessed it, wedding photos.

Emergency trip to Safeway to buy hairpins, hair putty, just-in-case already-tied bow tie and wax. After arriving home on Thursday night I dyed my hair (no time for a hair cut), waxed and hair-removed appropriate body parts, organised our bags, and ran through a “hairstyle practice”.

W Day Minus One – the car trip

So we were relatively organised. We left later than we’d hoped (pretty usual fare for us) and got coffee before driving two kilometres. In a fit of organisation I had managed to pack a lunch for us, which Grizzlewick demolished by the end of the first hour of the car-trip.

We headed to Melbourne and then north, stopping at Mr Fix’s favourite place, Euroa (don’t ask – it’s a family tradition or somesuch). Remembering Euroa from the previous car trip, Grizzlewick demanded a Calippo which, because I am a lax mother, he received. While eating said Calippo and balancing on a treated pine pole, Grizzlewick slipped to one side. He then complained of a sore tooth, but continued eating the icy pole happily. Back on the road and he again complained, saying he was hungry but then refusing a fruit bar.

WHAT KIND OF CHILD REFUSES A FRUIT BAR?

Answer: the kind that has a loose tooth.

Panic ensued. Accusations were made. Self was chastised for enabling the kind of tooth decay not seen since Victorian times. Dentists (in Wangaratta) were phoned and an emergency appointment made. After sitting in the waiting room of said dentist for around an hour, we got an appointment. We learned that:

a) teeth are not supposed to come out until kids are around six years old;
b) Grizzlewick’s adult teeth are surprisingly well advanced;
c) his baby teeth are in very good nick;
d) it is hard to say whether the icy pole caused the tooth to become loose or if it was already loose (the dentist couldn’t be sure);
e) very soon, we will be visited by the tooth fairy.

By now, we were well and truly behind time. We made our way back to the car clutching Grizzlewick’s dental show bag, and got on the road.

Arriving at “the club” (or as, Grizzlewick called it, the c-lub”) we were shocked to find that we were in breach of their dress code (no denims, no sports shoes, no haggard faces, “ladies dress appropriately”**). Luckily we had our fighting faces on and they weren’t game to argue with us. I then set a land-speed record for dressing for a semi-formal dinner and slathered make up on before running out the door to dine with my MiL and extended family.

Mr Fix took Grizzlewick to the pub with the other half of the family. The bar staff gave him a glow stick, conveniently leap-frogging his adolescent years and ensconcing him in the rave world of his late teens.

W Day – preparation

We awoke to a breakfast of “continental bix” and make ourselves a menace to the other guests, most of whom we did not know. I’m not sure if pyjamas were considered appropriate attire for the upper levels of the club, but that’s what was worn in our wing. After a mostly average breakfast we wandered the town for a couple of hours. Concerned about being construed as “indecent” for bearing my shoulders in church, I purchased a new wrap in a colour I wasn’t sure about, but which certainly covered my shoulders and quite a bit of the rest of my outfit besides. I felt this a small price to pay for decency.

At lunch, Mr Fix was called away to a last-minute PA emergency (namely that there was no PA) and left Grizzlewick and myself to make small talk with the parents of a half-relative.

Returning to the club, we helped finalise the venue arrangements and then killed time until the service. This, believe it or not, was harder than it sounds. For a start, I had already had to discourage Grizzlewick twice from donning his suit (thank you, Ebay!) and it took some coaxing to convince him to have a shower. Then, Mr Fix discovered that his endless practicing of bow-tie tying had both
a) given him RSI and
b) been for nought as he was now UNABLE to tie the tie at crucial moment.

There was much grrrring as he and I fought over the wholly inadequate mirror in our room while I attempted to coax my hair into the shape it had so easily taken during my hair-style practice.

The Wedding

Was lovely.

I received much praise from family members for Grizzlewick’s lack of interruption during the ceremony. Well, all except for my brother in law who was sitting next to me, who I’m sure used the experience to reinforce his resolve never to have children. What most people didn’t realise is that Grizzlewick was groaning, just below his breath, “I want to go back to the c-lub!” and wriggling on my lap while increasing my body temperature by around 5 degrees.

It was a nice service, improved by the fact that I wasn’t the only one not praying at relevant moments (my BiL is Jewish) and also by a rousing rendition of the Joyful Joyful chorus, which I will happily belt along with.

I must say that I was horrified, simply HORRIFIED by the number of people who did not adhere to the intended dress code. After all that trouble! There were no sneakers however, so no forceful ejections from the c-lub.

Following the service, Grizzlewick proceeded to have more paparazzi descend on him than Posh Spice (or the bride) as he was looking quite dapper. There are some lovely photos, none of which will I post here. His wish to go back to the club was granted as the reception was held there, and he proceeded to down pub raspberries like they were going out of fashion before chasing the poor hapless babysitter we’d hired to look after him around the circular stair case until 10:30pm.

The reception was lovely and friendly and Mr Fix’s speech, which had been the cause of much pre-wedding angst, went down a treat. Mr Fix however, found himself the victim of a hard-drinking newly-extended family, and got a bit messy by the end of the night. Messy enough for us to delay our return home for 24 hours. But also messy enough to warrant a round of applause at the post-wedding barbecue the next day. I’m not so sure about this whole “if you don’t drink three bottles of wine (to yourself) over lunch you’re not really trying” culture, it’s certainly well and truly beyond my recent experience. However, Mr Fix and I have decided that, in recognition of our inability to keep up, we will gracefully withdraw from the contest, and clutch nothing more than an expensive French mineral water in their presence in future.

The aftermath

The trip home was uneventful if tiring, the only interesting thing to happen was a stop at my SiL’s. This was a surprise, and not our idea…I think said SiL was feeling the heat of not being in a particularly good mood towards her brother pre-wedding, and possibly felt she had some ground to make up. Either way, it was enjoyable, and anyone who puts sashimi on the table at afternoon tea-time has my vote.

So now it’s almost a week later, the photos are up on Facebook and I’m being ticked off by friends for not showing off my dress more (covered up by shawl) and chastised by those “in the know” about my church-related modesty. The pewter shoes have been returned to the pink cotton bag I was storing them in, probably due only to form an integral part of Grizzlewick’s dress up box.

I will be pleased if I don’t have to attend another wedding for some time, much as it was enjoyable. My sister claims that Living in Sin is the way to go (it’s certainly, as she points out, cheaper).

Apparently it's a long weekend this weekend. I hadn't noticed until yesterday...



* from Neighbours, not Madonna.

** I made one of those up.