Weddings are great – aren’t they? Free food, free booze, get to dress up in a pretty frock, and ogle the best men.
Ah yes, but nothing could prepare me from my little brother’s wedding.
The operative word being “little” – as in younger.
Having lived in London for almost two and a-half years, and not been home at all – and not pulling in tow a hot billionaire – it was of the utmost importance to arrive back on NZ soil and attend the wedding with some degree of dignity and sanity. Sure in the old days it was frowned upon if the oldest child didn’t marry first, but we are in the 21st Century; nobody cares about that, right?
Regardless, it was my mission to come across as an independent, non-man-needing woman with worldly knowledge, English dress sense and a size 8 to fit. None of this desperado Bridgette Jones type stuff. No. The last thing I wanted was some extended great relative taking pity on me. Or worse, for everyone to whisper behind my back, “that’s the older sister – she’s got ‘problems’!”
Fake tan? – check
Bright fuchsia pink, (almost) micro-mini strapless dress? – check
Push-up bra with gel pads? – check
Anti-wrinkle cream plus concealer for the five-year younger look? - check
And we were set to go – the look was touchable, yet untouchable. Perfect.
Well I think I can successfully say I had the brightest coloured dress (the bridesmaids were in black), so if my aim was to not look like a wallflower, 10 marks my way.
And not a word from relatives or family friends as to the whereabouts of the left-hand, fourth-finger bling.
However, I may have been a little too successful with the independent, non-man-needing woman bit. Fate was clearly not looking at me in a kind light.
Firstly, thin-pickings on eligible bachelors at the wedding (what is this with 24-year-olds suddenly wanting to settle down?).
Secondly, the supposedly hot and single barman turned out (to my horror) to be a rather butch woman – the supposedly hot and single barman was seemingly not rostered on to work that night.
Thirdly, I was too busy persuading an unmarried aunt to join me in the bouquet toss that I actually missed the bouquet toss.
Not to worry, there’s always Valentine’s Day. (Oh crap that’s this week).