My wedding lists are reproducing. I’m now the proud parent of so many of them I feel like the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. (Google it). They’re on my phone. On the iPad. Scattered around the flat. I’m going to wake up one morning and see one carved into the ceiling. And the problem is they don’t seem to be getting any smaller. Indeed, they’re multiplying faster than the spiders in Arachnophobia. (YouTube it.)
With four weeks to go until The Big Day, wedding planning is now part of my daily routine. It’s like having a second job. My brain is full of table plans and ribbons and music and spreadsheets. And flowers and pipers and what shoes I will wear on the day of the rehearsal (cos that’s just so important…) Yeah, ok, it’s getting ridiculous. On the plus side iI’ve been *forced* to drink more Prosecco than normal – it’s all part of the wedding process, right? Hic. There is also the opportunity to justify copious amounts of shopping with the excuse they are “honeymoon clothes”. Still doesn’t stop the “HOW MUCH????” text from the other half of course.
Sadly, whilst my mind has been consumed by wedding craziness, it is a truth universally acknowledged that my general upkeep has suffered somewhat.
“Do you think I should get a fake tan?
“NO, for *enter swear word*’s sake!”
“Because the last time Louise you actually turned orange. Let me repeat: You were ORANGE.”
He has a point.
In my eagerness to plan my beauty regime, I fear I may have done it too early. I got my nails painted last week, but they now appear to have broken off. Of course the fact I bite them has nothing to do with it. Then there’s the colour. Initially a “shimmery pearl”, it now resembles a new shade I have decided to call “Dirty Water”.
In other news, I have my second hen do coming up next weekend. I’m still recovering from the first one in Scotland. And, as usual, I’m having a shoe dilemma.
Heels and I are not the best of friends. I have been known to stumble – admittedly after a glass or two of the aforementioned Prosecco – whilst wearing ridiculous shoes. At my first hen do I was fortunate that my bridesmaids decided to dress me up as a runner (another story) so I spent the day in plimsolls.
They’re bloody comfy. Perhaps I could wear them as I walk down the aisle. Whilst biting my nails, sipping Prosecco and checking off yet another list.