Never the bridesmaid
My group of friends didn’t marry much. So righteous about eschewing commitment, we shacked up instead with little thought of the consequence. The phrase ‘‘living in sin’’ wasn’t mentioned, because that would have meant acknowledging the religious conventions, and we couldn’t have that, could we?
Those who married were thin on the ground. They never referred to the event, and there were no photographs of the occasion to be found on top of their TV sets, if they had the temerity to have one. If evidence of their formal union was uncovered, they were ashamed and said it was because of parental pressure.
We turned our noses up at engagement parties and 21st birthday bashes too. Rituals man, they were so uncool. When couples split, it was messy because back in the mists of wine, pot, and parties, it was hard to define any start date to the relationship. Blokes hazily remembered moving in with their women by what album had come out that year.
When relationships started to sour, the emperors and empresses of soft landings would already have lined up another partner to seamlessly move in with. There were no courtships, and a girl was lucky to be asked, or even taken out, to dinner. Free love, eh? Nobody had to lay down a dime to get their foot in the door. It was sloppy, and it was cheap.
Things have changed, and now everyone’s getting formally hitched. I am happy to report that I am about to be the world’s oldest bridesmaid, or rather maid of honour, on account of not ever having married, which would have made me matron of honour. And I am thrilled. This maid of honour is chuffed because no-one has ever asked her to be their bridesmaid, and probably for very good reason.
Ihave consulted the bridesmaid rules and, apparently, among other duties, rule No 1 is, Thou shalt not be thinner than the bride. Rule No 2 is that all bridesmaids are to wear gold shoes. (Rose gold is permissible, and a bridesmaid may approach the bride and ask for special dispensation to be allowed to wear nude or beige-coloured shoes.)
Rule No 3 is that the bridesmaid should, at all times, be on read-my-lipstick duty for the entire ceremony and for the duration of the reception, especially after the eating of the wedding cake.
Rule No 4 is that the bridesmaid is on permanent worm-want-a-wriggle dance duty and should, with a smile on her dial, cut a little rug with the ugliest man in the room.
I have also added a rule of my own and given the bride, should she slip uncharacteristically into bridezilla mode, permission to slap my face three times during the leadup to the big day.
Having watched all the chick-lit movies, I realise it is incumbent upon me to be obese, despondent and, towards the end of the evening, lecherous to boot. I am determined to avoid the stereotype and, having been on the bridesmaid no-carbs diet, have dropped a dress size.
But you wouldn’t know it. I left my bra on the line in the gays’ garden, where bird life is abundant, and overheard mein hosts remark that the over-the-shoulder boulder-holder was so vast, Haast eagles could nest in the cups.
Oh, to be young, when one used to shed weight quickly from the top down. Now it’s from the feet up, the bulge shift unable to breast Mt Stomach. No wonder I got asked to be a bridesmaid.