In the early hours of Friday morning, I was in a hotel room getting ready for my wedding. My family were there, the guests had started arriving, the registrar was waiting and I was putting on my wedding dress. Suddenly, my dress had changed to a pink and red flower summery monstrosity and I was frantic – where had my dress gone? I looked in the same cupboards over and over, then went downstairs to ask for help, only to discover that the guests had started to eat their wedding buffet, and were complaining that there wasn’t enough food. My dress was nowhere to be found so I ran back upstairs to look in the same cupboards again, with no luck. I realised I still hadn’t put my make-up on so I decided to wear the wrong dress and started scrabbling around in an effort to find my eyeliner, only for The Bloke to walk into the room looking upset. Except, it wasn’t The Bloke – it was actor Kevin McKidd, who I thought was The Bloke. He informed me that the registrar had grown tired of waiting and had cancelled the wedding and also cancelled our passports, which meant that we couldn’t go on our honeymoon. He handed me a sticker that I had to put on my passport to make it invalid. I was so disappointed…
…and then I woke up.
That’s the fourth dream I’ve had in the last week that have been about a wedding disaster. Mostly, it’s been about the dress (which I have already bought), but occasionally it has been about the flowers not arriving, the food being ordered etc. I always wake up in a panic, which then means that I have to check and double check my list to make sure that everything has been done, which it has.
I’ve been talking about it and planning it for so long and it has always been something that is happening in the future, but the realisation that it is very close is becoming more and more apparent. It isn’t the marrying The Bloke part that is causing me anxiety – I’m desperately looking forward to that – it’s the day itself and my brain isn’t processing it properly yet.
So, I’ve decided to try and adopt the approach of ‘what happens, happens.’ If I suddenly can’t find my dress and have to wear my jeans, then that’s what I’ll do. If the flowers don’t show up, I won’t have flowers. If the food is crap, I’ll get a takeaway on the way home.
So if anyone sees a slightly drunken northerner wearing jeans and a hoodie and scoffing a McDonalds late at night in Birmingham at the end of October, accompanied by a handsome Silver Fox in a suit, you’ll know how successful the day has been…
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