You May Now Tackle the Bride
Who would have thought that our two families would bond over drop kicks and touchlines?
Article: Leigh-Anne Hunter
It always amazes me how brides manage to look so calm on their wedding day.
None of her guests could ever tell that her feet are aching from the three-inch heels she’s wearing, or that she requires the assistance of three people to pee. (Planning a military strategy would be easier).
If they did they might be overcome with sympathy, instead of tucking into the next crème brûlée.
Planning a dream wedding can be stressful for us girls. (Men, on the other hand, take as much interest in wedding planning as discussing Proust).
Firstly, finding the dress. Not just any dress, but the dress. A dress that’s going to knock the socks off your man and everyone else! Therefore you will go to any lengths and expense to find it, naturally!
Of course wedding dress-shopping requires perfecting a deadpan expression when a snooty sales assistant tells you the price. (Note: if you are going to hyperventilate, be sure to go to the change-room and close the door before whipping out the paper bag).
Trying on dresses isn’t exactly the fairytale experience I’d imagined it to be. After sucking in my tummy (think thin, think thin!), I finally managed to shimmy the meringue-shaped dress over my head, but it got stuck halfway, after which a battle ensued where two sales assistants (both rail-thin) tried to tug it over my waist as I gasped for air. Thank goodness corsets went out of fashion!
To add to my humiliation, I was then forced to twirl around on a podium, much to the delight of a giggling flock of teenage girls. "I just love weddings," sighed one girl.
I tried on every dress imaginable. Some dresses were so poofy they could have concealed a midget army.
In the end I wasn’t sure if I looked like a princess or Bridezilla. I wanted my fiancé to be swept away, not run away!
The worst thing is bumping into other brides (literally) – unavoidable during wedding season.
Somehow you don’t feel quite so special when there are ten of you in the bridal shop, tripping on each other’s veils or fighting over the last Swarovski tiara.
Of course the shop assistants are expert liars. “Oh, you look gorgeous!” they gush.
Meanwhile, the bride’s substantial bosom is spilling out the top of her dress, which is bound to gets tongues wagging at the wedding. (“Virginal bride she certainly is not!”).
Then there’s the grooming. Weeks of plucking, waxing, exfoliating, moisturising and primping.
After inordinate amounts of money spent on beautifying yourself, you cringe when your man just splashes soap and water on his face and combs a bit of gel through his hair. Harrumph!
While there are those who will lie to you shamelessly, there are others who find it necessary to tell you just how terrible you look.
Like the hairdresser who fluffed up my limp hair with ill-concealed disdain and sighed dramatically, "Vell, I can't vork miracles but I vill try my best!" Or the makeup artist who took one look at my eyebrows and had to call for backup!
Then there’s trying to decide on a menu that won’t make your lacto-ovo vegetarian second cousin come out in a rash if she eats anything that even looks like chicken.
And your weight-conscious niece who wouldn’t touch ravioli if George Clooney fed it to her himself while murmuring Italian sonnets into her ear.
As a bride, you’re constantly bombarded with questions. Rose petals or confetti? Champagne or sparkling wine? What is your theme colour? I felt like a failure.
I mean really, what kind of a person doesn’t know the colour theme for their wedding?
And no matter how much planning you put into it, things are bound to go wrong. Horribly wrong.
As they did when we discovered that we’d picked the day of a big rugby game to host our nuptials. (Thou shalt not, under any circumstances, hold a wedding on a national sporting day, see page five of The Wedding Survival Guide).
But my wedding day came around anyway and my friends dragged along their disgruntled boyfriends and husbands. Goodness knows what favours were promised in return. "Big day today isn’t it?" said one guest. "Yes indeed," I replied happily. "Yup, we hope the bokke win," he said. "Actually I was talking about my wedding", I replied between gritted teeth.
"You do know about the big game today, don’t you?" said the tenth person that day. It was impossible to forget.
On our way to the venue, people caught up in pre-match fever hollered at us from cars draped with the Springbok flag. I felt outshined.
But despite breaking the cardinal sin of wedding planning, I loved every minute of my special day. When I looked into my husband’s tear-filled eyes as we exchanged vows, everything else faded away.
No-one seemed to notice that the substitute minister (our original minister cancelled due to a rare strain of Hepatitis) barely waited to say "You may now kiss the bride" before racing off in a cloud of holy dust (back home to where his TV and an ice-cold six-pack awaited him).
Or that someone’s teenage son was making out with the flower girl next to the buffet table.
Or that a heat wave had struck and the wedding planner, armed with a watering can, was desperately trying to rescue the wilting roses. To me, everything seemed perfect.
That afternoon our guests gobbled down their lunch, eager not to miss the game opening.
At exactly 5pm all you could hear was the squeaking of chairs and clatter of cutlery.
I was nervous about how our two families would be getting along, but I’ll never forget seeing everyone gathered around the small, crackly television set, shouting and cheering our boys on until the wee hours of the morning.
Or my dear mum, listening patiently to my father-in-law’s detailed explanation of the rules of the game. (She was one of the rowdiest ones by the end of the match).
Who would’ve thought that our two families would bond over drop kicks and touchlines?
My husband and I left early so we didn’t get to witness our boys' glorious victory. But my beau wasn’t worried about missing the game. He got to score anyway!
What was best part of your wedding day?