No Dress? No Stress (aka. The LADYBRIDE After School Special)

There are a few things that a bride never wants to hear, and one of those phrases is "I'm really sorry, but there's been a problem with your dress".

I had a great time picking out my dress. Sure, some shops treated me a bit like a walking money spewing machine, but Gerry undid all of that - she was everything you'd want from someone who plays such a big part in your wedding preparations. I'd made sure I ordered the dress in plenty of time, had my measurements taken, and was told to expect my dress sometime during the last week in January.

I phoned Gerry earlier today on my lunch break just to touch base and find out if the dress had arrived, and that was when she said a variant on the above sentence. Gerry was calm, but I could tell she had been through the emotional wringer that afternoon. She told me that the dress had arrived at the stockists a week ago, when it had been due, and they had found a fault in the material. She told me she had been very cross with them and had urged them to get a replacement to her as fast as they possibly could and then some. She said she didn't want me to have a dress that was anything less than perfect, and I told her that I was very grateful and the dress would simply get here when it gets here.

She then told me that I was the most chilled-out Bride, ever. I was highly flattered!

The shiny new replacement dress is due in early March, so there is still time to make any necessary adjustments. Come our wedding day, I will have a dress.

You might be wondering what my point is. Am I trying to give myself a big pat on the back? I honestly am not, and I actually cannot swear that I'm 100% settled - I am a little concerned, and my Mum was quite worried when I told her. After all, it could be late, or something else could go wrong. But there isn't any point wondering about something that hasn't even happened yet.

Recently, I had a nightmare which occurred a couple of days after Brawny and I had posted our invitations. I dreamt I was at home on my day off when I received a card from a relative. Inside was a card that simply said "We will not be attending your wedding". Then the phone went. On the other end of the line was a very dear mutual friend of ours. He and his girlfriend couldn't come to the wedding, either. I pressed him for details, and eventually I got an explanation out of him:

"The things is," he said sharply, "We don't actually like you. We don't like the way you treat Brawny." And he hung up. The telephone rang again and, you guessed it, another friend told me they wouldn't be coming to the wedding on account of the festering doucheturd that I was. As the dream went on I kept getting more and more rejections, each one more personal and painful than the last.

When I woke up, I couldn't shake the dream off for days. I thought back about all the horrible things I'd done over the years: dumping a dustbin over someone's head in Middle School, pushing my baby brother over, going out with a friend's ex-boyfriend just days after they'd broken up, stealing a tenner from my Dad. I went through my guest list and tried to find a reason that each individual guest would hate me. And when I couldn't find something, I reasoned with myself that it was only a matter of time before I pissed them off. It was only when I found myself convinced that my Maid of Honour would remember an argument we had years ago about a hypothetical motorbike (stop laughing, I'm serious) that I realised I was being a total idiot*.

There is no point wondering about what might happen because it just creates unnecessary drama. And everyone knows that: I'm not trying to win any prizes for my philosophising here!

But because prepping for a wedding is a high-pressure deal, it's easy to forget the unnecessary drama rule and get swept up in the apocalyptic reasoning. All I can say is that it pays to remember that nightmare scenarios are extremely rare in real life, and are often just little blips. If anyone is winding you up, step away; if you're worrying too much then just talk it over, and try to approach the situation logically rather than emotionally. Oh, and don't eat cheese before bed.

*(I know I joke around, but seriously, that dream has bothered me for weeks. If you're in a similar situation, I urge you to have a chat with someone sensible and level-headed, and they will help guide you back to sanity. I'd like to take this opportunity to recommend Offbeat Bride, who are a very helpful no-criticism no-bitching "wedsite" offering everything from friendship and advice to craft ideas and how-tos. Similarly their sister sites Offbeat Home and Offbeat Families are superb.)

Dress to Impress

       Sometimes, a dress makes all the difference.

       Even if a girl lives in blue jeans all her life, the famous allure of the wedding dress is not always the hardest thing to push aside.

I met my best friend and MOH Lizzie at College nearly seven years ago during our first English Language lecture. She was wearing jeans, a red jacket and a nifty-looking hat, and I sensed in her a sort of kindred spirit. I sat down next to her, and as Bogie once said, it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Since then I’ve seen her in jeans, comfy slacks, pyjama bottoms, miniskirts and going-out dresses. But the first time she came out of the changing room at the bridal shop, a little tear escaped my eye. Wedding dresses are just...different.

I don’t know if you’ve been following the car-crash viewing that is My Big Fat Gypsy Weddings on Channel 4 but the dresses that the young Gypsy wives insist on wearing look like Barbie and the Disney Princesses fighting inside an Eton mess. The cakes are thirty tiers high – some are merely decoys covered in icing – and the decorations look like Christmas in Bel Air. But then, the day after the wedding, the wives start a whole new life: cooking and cleaning for their husbands, not being allowed out without permission, bearing children and doing little else. It’s a very surreal experience – you go from chuckling at seven-foot-wide wedding gowns to wondering how this sort of oppression is still acceptable. It’s as if their day in the spotlight is their wedding day, and they spend the rest of their lives paying it off.

My New Years’ Resolution was to try on a dress, so I took Liz and my darling Mum to the bridal boutique down the road.

If you’ve ever been dress shopping (either for yourself or with a lady), you probably know that there are lots of rules. Here’s the abridged version: not every dress suits every girl. So my plan of action was to try on a range of different styles. I’m not going into details here, mainly because my future husband reads this Blog, and the little devil's itching to know details that I don't wish to pass on.

I’ve worn quite a few dresses in my time, but nothing quite prepares you for the sight of yourself in a wedding dress. I’ve seen other people in them, I’ve seen plenty at the wedding fayres I’ve been to, but it’s nothing like actually wearing one. Unlike any other dress, they’re designed to fit you like an extra layer of skin; they’ve got more layers than an onion and more often than not you need an extra pair or so of hands to help you get into them. It’s all very princess-like.

Luckily I’m not a Gypsy, and Brawny doesn’t expect me to give up my individuality in exchange for a lavish wedding ceremony, but the dress is still symbolic of my transition from single girl to wife. Aside from your wedding, you never wear a dress quite like this ever again (unless Miss Havisham).

And so begins my quest for the perfect wedding gown. Like every other bride, I want to find the one that defines me best; the one that makes everyone’s eyes widen in that silent “Wow!” gesture as I walk down the aisle. But I’m a fussy creature: I don’t know what I want, but I know what I don’t want. Sort of. Wedding dresses have been used many a time as metaphors for finding the perfect mate; you desire something that complements you, fits you in all the right places, emphasises the best parts and skims over any unflattering bits. But Brawny was a lucky find in an unlikely place: the retail equivalent of finding an unworn Vivienne Westwood original at a car boot. Once you’ve found such a rarity, you won’t ever need to look anywhere else.

And that’s essentially what I want for my dress. Wish me luck!

A Decent Proposal

        I’m sitting on a towel on the beach on a beautiful sunny day in July. The sky is blue, the sea is calm, and in front of me is a picnic with all my favourite foods: smoked salmon, crusty bread, fruit salad and chorizo. There’s a flute of rose champagne in my hand.

        But I’m not looking at the view, the picnic or the people running around in swimming costumes. I’m looking down at a little box in my boyfriend’s hands.

        “Will you be my wife?” He asks.

I manage a ‘Yes!’ despite my initial disbelieving splutter-fest, and he slips a beautiful silver ring inlaid with diamonds and freshwater pearls onto my ring finger.

And we're suddenly in a whole new world – betrothed, enfianced, engaged. I find myself constantly blushing and smiling, exposing my left hand to anyone and everyone, joining my parents in gushing about my future husband and how lovely he is. Before now I don’t think I've ever gushed over anything that wasn’t a baby reptile.

Once the flurry of ‘congratulations’ emails, cards, Facebook messages and visits had passed, I went to see my best friend Liz who is herself getting married. (Being best friends, naturally we're each other's Maid of Honour.)

The date isn’t until April next year, but her cosy Southampton flat is packed with wedding paraphernalia. She hands me a thick wedge of magazines and we start poring through them.

And it’s just like trying to shop for a regular dress. In a shop with no exits. While you’re on Acid.

This is how to get yourself thrown out of Beales, in case you're interested.

You know those girls that demand a Magical Wedding Barbie at age four? The ones that have perfectly visualized their dress; the first dance, the fillings in the vol-au-vents right down to the last fragment of lace trim and glazed prawn. I’m not one of those. I literally have no idea what to do at a wedding ceremony. Plonk me in the middle of one and I’ll make a weird joke about communism and fall sideways over the master table.

And now the man I love has decided that he wants to settle down with me. Me; the woman who eats like a pig, the woman who loves her pet turtles more than most humans, the woman who makes jokes about Stalin at other people’s special day.

So because I’m such a fan of a good fish-out-of-water story, I thought I’d take the opportunity to start a documentation of my experience. After all, here I am on the cusp of everything I’ve ever really dreamed of: not the colour-coordinated flowers and the three-tiered cake, but a man who knows how awkward and weird and disgusting I can be and still wants in on it for the rest of our lives.

So you are welcome to join me on what promises to be an interesting trip towards the rest of my waiting life.