....Arrrgh. 7.5 weeks!! 7.5 weeks! 3.5 til my dress fitting and despite practically moving into the gym, I still have a belly like santa and arms like a dinner lady who likes pies.
And none of my bloody friends are coming. Of course future husband's oh so perfect friends are all coming (some of them for the free wine, I suspect), and he gleefully reminds me of this whenever I get yet another with regrets card. I got one on Saturday from a friend who said she would be away and I actually cried. Future husband very nicely hugged me and didn't call me a mental, before reminding me that all his friends are coming.
And don't even get me started on people not RSVPing. I made it easy. I put in a card (albeit with 2 typos). All you have to do is write your name on the card, score out will or will not, and send it back to me. I put the address on it. I also put both our mobile numbers on it. I don't have psychic bride powers. I don't automatically know if you're coming. Just fucking be polite and answer me!!
Due to a fuckup, we have loads of haribo. I calculated each guest would need 50g of haribo. Turns out we can only get 5 each into the bags and we have 6kg of haribo. And they're staring at me in an eat me kind of way. No, bad haribo. I will not eat you. I'm on a diet and I'd never hear the end of it if I ate all the favour sweets. I'm already not hearing the end of it about our 6kg of the things. It was my fault, but I shouldn't be trusted with quantities. I over order.
So, to recap. I have loads of haribo, no wedding guests belonging to me and a future husband who mocks me and wants to go to Dundee to see Hayseed Dixie the night before our wedding. And I look like an East German shotputter who got into the cakes. But it doesn't matter as nobody will see me anyway.
Days til the wedding: 53 (bloody hell, eeeek and other fearful exclamations)
Level of madness: Quite high, but I'm on a rush from my 322 calorie dinner, masses of caffeine and no chocolate.
No comments:
Post a Comment