Wedding Week Day2: It’s Too Late to Change!

I was sitting on the sofa last night, slotting the Order of Service invites into the cards. These things have taken me a while. It started on Saturday when my printer decided to hiccup, throwing the whole ‘can I even print them’ question into the equation. I printed 20 successfully. Then I ran out of ribbon after the first 16. Proactive Friend, who had lent a hand with the mind numbing double sided tape exercise disappeared to Bluewater and returned with three new reels the next day. By Monday, All 62 were printed. I finished sticking. I finished binding with ribbon. Now, to insert the pieces, drop them in the rubbish brown box that I should do something to prettify.

Boyfriend, a little more engaged now that the World Cup has abandoned him, decided to flick through the completed versions only to notice that I had forgotten to put his friend’s name in bold to show that he’s a reader. Boyfriend asked me to re-print – it would only be the inserts. Um.

On another note, the bridesmaids are in rebellion. Possibly the subject of a later post, their dress hunting has been for me the most M. Night Shyamalan part of this process – they were going to wear blue – but they wore pink! They were going to wear pink – but now they’re wearing cream! They were going to choose their own outfits – but then they couldn’t decide! They were going to wear different dresses – but now they’re wearing the same! They said they liked the dress I eventually chose – now they don’t!

When Cousin asked if she could change out of the (news to me) unflattering dress, I didn’t act with poise or nonchalance about the fact that it is just a dress, I made a snippy comment instead. I have since realised the error of my idiocy and within twenty minutes retracted the refusal and told her and Sister to wear whatever they want in the evening. For crying out loud, it is just a dress.

For Sister’s perspective, maybe check out her account of the last few months in The Aftermath – I felt a little bit Bridezilla after reading that! And maybe I should have read it earlier than three days ago!

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About 1000-blank-pages

Meant-to-be-a-writer-but-doesn't-even-blog 31 year old who keeps meaning to do "something"
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