ELLE ED­I­TORS’ WED­DING DI­ARIES

Elle (Canada) - - Wedding Special -

I DIDN’T LET ANY­THING “CRIMP” MY SIM­PLE WED­DING STYLE We got mar­ried on the beach in front of the tiny A-frame cabin we lived in on Van­cou­ver Is­land. A few months be­fore our Au­gust wed­ding, we planted flow­ers around our deck. The night be­fore the wed­ding, I re­mem­ber wa­ter­ing them and think­ing they were per­fect. Turns out the deer who fre­quented our prop­erty felt the same way. The he next morn­ing, I woke up and found our gar­den had been de­voured. With $50 in my pocket, I drove to a nearby or­ganic farm where they sold bou­quets of wild­flow­ers. I told the woman my story, and she filled my car with the most ex­quis­ite col­lec­tion of colour­ful blooms. For our hon­ey­moon, we drove down the Ore­gon and Cal­i­for­nia coast­line. We mostly camped, but my brother gifted us with a stay at Deet­jen’s Big Sur Inn. With its sto­ried and ro­man­tic his­tory, it was the per­fect set­ting. Beauty ad­vice: Don’t try a hair­style that you’d never con­sider wear­ing in your ev­ery­day life. #crimped­hair #what­wasI­think­ing? I STAYED SOBER AT THE BIG­GEST PARTY OF MY LIFE I love wine. And not in a“a “Sure, I could do white” kind of way. Mine’s more of a ““No joy cometh like a frosted glass of Marl­bor­ough at the end of a stress­ful work week” ado­ra­tion. But at my wed­ding, although I made sure there was an im­pres­sive wine list and a fully stocked bar, I steered clear. I came to that ver­dict af­ter wit­ness­ing pho­tos of a fam­ily friend at her own wed­ding: makeup smeared, stom­ach bal­looned from carby beer (com­pounded by a drop-waist dress), body drunk­enly slumped against walls, C-list celeb-like. I de­cided right then and there that I wanted to re­mem­ber ev­ery last beau­ti­ful de­tail of my wed­ding day—to be in a haze of emo­tional ex­u­ber­ance, not tequila.

So I toasted with sparkling wa­ter and teensy sips of cham­pagne and passed on the many rounds of shots that were of­fered. And at last call, when guests were pil­ing into shut­tle buses en route to the af­ter­party, I propped my el­bows on the bar and or­dered an icy glass of New Zealand’s Oys­ter Bay Sau­vi­gnon Blanc. I toasted my new hus­band twice (he was dou­ble-fist­ing some lo­cal lager) and re­flected, soberly, on an un­for­get­table night. Then I promptly fan­ta­sized over how booze-fu­elled my beachy hon­ey­moon would be. KATHER­INE FLEM­MING, HEALTH & BEAUTY EDI­TOR

NOREEN FLANA­GAN, EDI­TOR-IN-CHIEF

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