2 weeks ago General

It’s the 14th June 2017 and I’m mid way through what I’ve been told multiple times will be the best day of my life. So far we’ll have to agree to disagree. Now before I continue with the story I think it’s important to give you a little back story on Barry, my husband to be. The man is as useful as a concrete parachute. He’s notoriously late, famously forgetful and agonisingly slow paced in every aspect of life. We met in University, and it’s taken him 10 years to grind me down to the point where I find myself today, left waiting at the altar for a man I’m not even sure I like, never mind love. Okay, perhaps that was a little harsh. Perhaps these last twenty minutes of humiliation have somewhat clouded my judgement – nonetheless, he’s in very bad books.

The vicar asks me for a second time if I’m willing to wait any longer, and as I prepare to ditch the man of my dreams (nightmares), the bumbling fool stumbles on through the door. He makes his way down the aisle, to an awkward but admirably synchronized orchestra of ‘tuts’ from my side of the family. As he reaches the alter he attempts a peck on the cheek, I dodge his guilt-ridden attempt at intimacy with a swift jerk of the head and ask the vicar to get on with the show. Each “I do” is made through gritted teeth and as we reach the conclusion, I’m thinking less about the future of my seconds old marriage and more about my buffet plate stacking tactics at tonight’s party.

Rather reluctantly on my part, we hired an old University friend to deal with the catering. Why reluctantly? There was a brief period of, in Barry’s words, “friendliness” between Julie and my husband, but I was assured that it was indeed VERY brief and that the pros (her ‘mate’s rates’ and quality food) would far outweigh the obvious cons…

A FEW HOURS LATER

The wedding party is in full swing. With the vows, the cake cutting, the speeches and the buffet done and dusted, it’s time for Groovy Graham ‘the finest dick jokey in Milton Keynes’ to do this thing. Come On Eileen blares through the speakers and I start to think this whole wedding thing isn’t so bad after all. I’ve decided it’s time for a fresh start – marriage changes people, sometimes for better sometimes for worse, but I know that me and Barry can make this work.

For the next hour or so, Graham spoils us with hit after hit and my killer moves to these 90’s classics are going down a storm. I’m midway through my fantastically accurate Macarena routine when I feel a rumble in the jungle. Thunder down under if you will. I stop dead in my tracks. I’m out of time with my fellow macarenas but that doesn’t matter anymore. There’s motion in the ocean and the tide is about to come in, if you catch my drift. I lunge for the nearest loo and throw myself into an empty cubicle. Whilst dealing with the obvious consequences of a glutening I hear a chuckle in the cubicle next to me. I’d know that hideous cackle anywhere. It was Julie…and she did this to me. I dart out of the cubicle and kick in the door next to me. It’s empty. I fall to my knees and sob, sob to the distant sounds of The YMCA telling me that “there’s no need to feel down”. I’m not so sure about that…

TO BE CONTINUED…


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