An Irish woman's social, political and domestic commentary
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| GUBU An Irish woman's social, political and domestic commentary |
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Monday, August 29, 2005
Post-Wedding Blues Don't worry, not mine, someone else's. I'm posting early in the hope of benefitting from the therapeutic effects of blogging, thus preventing a Monday mope and resultant lack of productivity which would have onerous consequences for the remainder of the week. I truly have stepped off the set of Four Wedding and a Funeral. Scotland, jokey priest (or moderator or whatever they have there), marquee, champagne in the garden overlooking the river, bagpipes, kilts and as it was a border county, lots of tartan trousers and lots of dodgy speeches. And the groom's name was Hugh Grant. Could you ask for more? The groom's mother was gas. A classic Dublin elegant lady, witty and tough I'd say. During the service I was getting a bit self-conscious that my bra could be seen under my dress. The straps out the sides and the effect of my decolletage was spoiled by a clear view of the lace. I fiddled with it during the garden party but when we were due to go into dinner I decided enough was enough. I nipped into the loo and took it off. I looked fine. No nipple issues and the dress was structured so that the lack of support was unnoticable. I was left with the problem of what to do with the garment since it wouldn't fit in the little purse I was carrying. I remembered the groom's mother had a large bag. I caught her waiting to enter the marquee and she didn't hestitate for a second when I explained the problem. The bra was stuffed down well in her bag and returned discreetly the next morning at breakfast. She behaved as if this was a perfectly normal occurence. That's the kind of mother-in-law you need. I always get a little downer after weddings because now that they are usually weekend affairs you spend 48 blissful hours socialising when everyone is determined to have a good time and look their best. The company was excellent and the conversation sparkling. For the first time ever I almost wept during the vows. The presbyterian (or whatever they are ) format really dramatised the declarations with the parties pledging loyalty and trust as well as the usual love and honour. The bride is one of the most fiercely loyal people I know and the groom is worthy of eternal trust and whatever else may get in their way I crossed my fingers and prayed that they will make it. I think weddings are one of the few places where there is a uniformity of good will which cosmically speaking gives the newly weds the best possible start. I have high hopes for them. On the personal growth front I reached another benchmark. When it came to 1am or so I was on a great buzz (to use a mid-1990's peak of 'e' use term). I'd achieved a nice balance between the champagne, the wine and a G&T pick-me-up. I'd been flung around the dance floor, received several compliments, renewed old acquaintances, developed some new ones and affection had the potential to overtake commonsense. When a lift back to the hotel was offered, I had the option to refuse and see the party into that phase where people either start kissing or fighting and my hangover the next day would move from tolerable to acute. Because I have become either wise or dull, I decided to hop it. My psychic nature is clearly developing because within minutes of my departure the best man did punch a friend he suspected (falsely!!) of making inappropriate advances towards his wife. Apologies were offered and graciously accepted, and the incident can be grossly exaggerated for years for our entertainment. I still can't decide whether I am relieved or disappointed that I went home at a decent hour. I know its good to be good, but why do you only feel you're living when you're bad? Well, that's a bit harsh. But why is all the best craic usually bad? posted by Sarah | 09:15 0 comments
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