Weddings and stitches
Jan. 31st, 2005 12:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootHmph.
Two excellent friends have invited me to go looking at wedding dresses with them tomorrow. Now, though I am not interested in marriage, I quite enjoy the paraphenalia of weddings. I am not a great fan of the blancmange and trifle brigade (otherwise known as the creamandpeachers)but looking at funky big dresses, spangly tiaras, pretty veils and shoes, bouquet arrangements, designs for invitations and all the details of weddings always pleases me, provided I don't actually have to do anything about it myself.
I recall a friend whose after wedding delights included champagne and bellinis on a tudor lawn; each champagne flute was lovingly adorned with a single tiny pink silk rose on a cocktail stick. I like the absurd attention to detail only a lunatic would care about. As interesting was the pre-nup ordeal the bride put herself through, with her seaweed wrap and her st tropez tan. 24 hours before the wedding, she was so shrunk and orange the groom feared he was marrying an oopah-loompah. Then the day came and she was a golden goddess to his dark Andy Garcia/Al Pacino charm. Beautiful.
So yes, I enjoy pootling around looking at preparations and having no responsibility for them whatsoever. Under such circumstances, big dress hunting can be fun.
However. Tomorrow, my stitches come out.
My friends, bless them, have plan a and plan b, both focused around helping me to join them, go to the hospital and rejoin them, and both immense trouble for the posse's driver. I have tried to read the plans, and it is obvious to me that I am causing hideous inconvenience to everybody.
It's better if I don't join then and make my own way to the hospital.
But I don't drive and their idea(s) would, of course, help me a great deal - how could it be otherwise with two such efficient planners? God, I don't know what to do. People are very kind, and the best way to repay that is not to wear out their kindness. This is a real fag, a real imposition on them and their day's shopping.
I read that back, and I know I've got to back out. Bugger.
Two excellent friends have invited me to go looking at wedding dresses with them tomorrow. Now, though I am not interested in marriage, I quite enjoy the paraphenalia of weddings. I am not a great fan of the blancmange and trifle brigade (otherwise known as the creamandpeachers)but looking at funky big dresses, spangly tiaras, pretty veils and shoes, bouquet arrangements, designs for invitations and all the details of weddings always pleases me, provided I don't actually have to do anything about it myself.
I recall a friend whose after wedding delights included champagne and bellinis on a tudor lawn; each champagne flute was lovingly adorned with a single tiny pink silk rose on a cocktail stick. I like the absurd attention to detail only a lunatic would care about. As interesting was the pre-nup ordeal the bride put herself through, with her seaweed wrap and her st tropez tan. 24 hours before the wedding, she was so shrunk and orange the groom feared he was marrying an oopah-loompah. Then the day came and she was a golden goddess to his dark Andy Garcia/Al Pacino charm. Beautiful.
So yes, I enjoy pootling around looking at preparations and having no responsibility for them whatsoever. Under such circumstances, big dress hunting can be fun.
However. Tomorrow, my stitches come out.
My friends, bless them, have plan a and plan b, both focused around helping me to join them, go to the hospital and rejoin them, and both immense trouble for the posse's driver. I have tried to read the plans, and it is obvious to me that I am causing hideous inconvenience to everybody.
It's better if I don't join then and make my own way to the hospital.
But I don't drive and their idea(s) would, of course, help me a great deal - how could it be otherwise with two such efficient planners? God, I don't know what to do. People are very kind, and the best way to repay that is not to wear out their kindness. This is a real fag, a real imposition on them and their day's shopping.
I read that back, and I know I've got to back out. Bugger.
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