The wickedness of weddings
You hear the stories, the legends, the urban myths. They are tales of wonder, of fright, of strange things happening to good people. But you never give them a second thought. You never expect that they’ll come true. You never believe that the horrors visited upon other people will ever become a reality in your life.
But you’d be wrong, because all those stories about otherwise delightful brides losing their marbles just before the wedding are true. It was never going to happen to me, not with my lovely Robyn. But now, almost two months exactly until the wedding day, the “turn” has begun.
It was subtle, at first. I didn’t even notice the change. We were just about to go for a ride on Saturday morning. I was putting on my kit, oblivious to Robyn at the door, sizing me up. “Oh, are you going to wear that top, David.” Yeah. Why not? “Well, it’s just that it looks a bit tight. Why don’t you wear one of these bigger tops.” Uh, sure. I can do that.
Admittedly, this hasn’t been my best year on the scales, but I was miffed at the advice.
“Yes, thanks Robyn. Why do you think we spend every weekend cycling or running.” In a huff, I refused the toast with my scrambled eggs that morning. Later I rushed out to replace my full strength beers with the watery kind. Let it never be said that the power of suggestion is ineffective.
Two days later, another “hint” was fired in my direction. “When is your next dentist appointment?” I’m not too sure. I went about six months ago, so it should be soon. “Okay. So you don’t go to the dentist anymore. Are your teeth perfect?”
Sensing trouble, I countered, “No, not all. Thank you for your concern, but why do you ask?” No reason. I just think that I might go and get my teeth whitened, so I’ll look nice for the wedding photos. “So then why do you need my dentist?” I don’t, I was just thinking that you could get yours done too, so you could also look good, you know, for the photos.
Compared to some bridezilla stories this isn’t too bad. She’s not running around the house ordering friends and family to dress identically, or demanding 7000 butterflies be delivered to create a winged path to the alter on the day. And she’s even letting me have the bagpipes play.
But still, man. I thought I was perfect. I thought she said yes because I was the immaculate vision of everything she dreamed in man; robust, strong-jawed, winning grin.
Now I look in the mirror and mutter, “hmmm, maybe Robyn has a point about that tooth stuff.” When it comes to elevensies in the office, I think twice about that second chocolate biscuit. Before cycling to work yesterday I stood staring into the mirror for 20 minutes trying to decide whether my cycling top made me look fat or not. My confidence is shot.
I’m worried now that my grey hairs are going to be secretly dyed overnight. But more than that, I can’t go to the bathroom without agonising over every imperfection in my reflection. At this rate, come the wedding day, I’ll be the one bawling while getting ready, “No! I can’t go outside in front of all those people, I’m just not beautiful enough! I’m a monster!”
Source: David Moseley