...I will be walking down the aisle. Well, not exactly an aisle as such - the whole not believing in God things puts paid to the big church wedding no matter how pretty the buildings might be. More an area in a hotel function suite with no chairs and a bad carpet. We're paying them ridiculous amounts of money - you'd think they'd lose the ugly carpet. Even bare floorboards would be preferable. I'm not sure about the carpet. It makes me sad in a way in which only orange and brown carpets can.
Anyway, sorry. I'll be walking down the aisle accompanied by my proud father, to be joined in errrm unholy matrimony to a man who claims he loves me although he prefers to spend all his time with his mistress, Football Manager 2011. By spending all his time with his computer, he doesn't see how mental I am, which I think is why we're still together.
My father will be vacillating (is that the right word?) between being proud of giving away his youngest daughter to a good Catholic boy and joyful that he finally gets to do this, me showing disturbing tendencies towards spinsterism. Truth is, my abject refusal to allow my parents to get anywhere near any of the miscreants and fuck-ups I dated through my 20s, made my parents and siblings believe that I would soon acquire 20 cats and be crazy cat lady (I tried, but I'm allergic) or that I was a lesbian. Again, I tried, but kissing girls didn't do much for me, except in the non-stubble rash way - although I do appreciate the free exfoliating I get when my future victim, sorry, husband, hasn't shaved. Anyway, back to this aisle. I will be walking down it in a dress that makes me look like a queen from a bygone age, flanked by bridesmaids that have done nothing to help me with the planning (bitches!!!) and worrying that I'm going to fall flat on my face in front of 75 or so of our nearest and dearest (the maximum we can afford to pay to feed). I say nearest and dearest. I mean, those family members that I don't like and never see but that I have to invite to keep the peace, at the expense of people I actually like. But that's a different story for another day.
This is where this diary comes in. You see, I've been having these Bridezilla type moments. Not the usual type "omigosh, the colour of the napkins is a tiny bit different from the colour of the favour bags" moments, because life is just too short and I don't care. More the "ohmigosh, my brother's kids are a group of Jeremy Kyle rejects, and they'll embarass me at this posh event and could I not just go back in time and put sterilising pills in his water supply and save society" type thoughts. As it would cause offence to them, I plan to express these thoughts here, where nobody can judge.
Days til the wedding: 159
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