I'm not going to waste time blogging on my hen night. Up until the end it was fun, then my niece got punched by some middle aged bloke and her sister got arrested for being upset. I actually am struggling to get my head around that, but I don't think my thoughts would make good reading. Unless you want a page of how rubbish the police were on this occasion and for fuck's sake how hard is it to take a statement. And breathe....
Anyway, it's 13 days to the big event and I cant wait...until the fucking thing is over.
At the moment, I'm up to my neck in organza ribbon which at a stupid moment, I decided I had to wrap around the green stems of the wooden rose centrepieces. I have no skin on my thumb because I keep supergluing it to the ribbon. I still have to sew the ribbons onto my ballet shoes for the evening. We've not done our table plan, my MOH has split up from her partner, was going to bring him anyway and then they fell out and she's bringing someone else. Which would have been good 2 weeks ago before we got his painted wine glass commissioned.
H2B is all nervous and hasn't eaten dinner for 2 weeks. He does the stressed not eating thing and I'm jealous because I want to eat. I can't though because of my stupid dress. Following an attack of shin splints and a dodgy back, I spent last week in pain and unable to work out so I went along to my dress fitting on Saturday and it was not good
We went in on time and another bride was there. A very tiny bride wearing what looked like one of those toilet roll covers. Anyway, rather than accept that she was eating into our time, she had to try on her several pairs of shoes, 3 different tiaras, bracelets, necklaces and so on. Then she spent ages looking in the mirror and saying "they ordered me a size 6 dress and I think it should have been a 4. Do I need to gain weight?" Really? Just. Fuck. Off. So I sat there watching and listening to this, then had to get into my comparatively massive size 14 dress. Which they had to yank the zip up on. And then I couldn't breathe. Take your size 6, 4, or 2 dress and shove it up your arse. I think I wouldn't mind so much if she hadn't been so bloody high maintenance and annoying. So I'm worrying that the dress isn't going to do up at all.
Days til the wedding: unknown