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Wednesday 7 December 2011

A fake surprise wedding.

I have a beautiful accomplice. She is my partner in crime, the Robin to my Batman. I am the Kato to her Green Hornet. She is my aider and abettor, my co-conspirator, my support and the little voice that whispers mischief and “More beer!” in my ear.
Recently we were discussing her wedding. She’s not getting married soon, possibly not ever. She has an amazing partner who is kind and sweet and hilarious and who loves her very much, but it’s just not something they’re considering now. She has said to me though, should the occasion ever arise, that she would very much like for me to be her bridesmaid.
We’ve all watched those awards shows, when the interviewer asks “Do you think you’ll win?” and the actor says, “I don’t care. It’s just an honour to be nominated.” I used to call bullshit on that. I actually used to call bullshit on that loudly, emphatically and more often than not, repetitively. But I kind of see where they’re coming from now. I might never get to be her bridesmaid, because she may not ever get married, but it is an honour to be nominated for the position.
We were wondering whether, if we organised a surprise wedding and just sprung it on him, her partner would flip out and leave, or actually just kind of go along with it. I was betting on going along with it. Especially if we got him liquored up. And as responsible adults, that is, of course what we’d do.
It would be a great adventure. We’d plan tiny dessert treats, we’d go to a hundred different venues and demand to try their menu plans and then run away cackling into the night fuelled by voulevants and sugared almonds. We’d eat fancy layered cakes on the premise of research, and no one could judge us. I would help her plan her day if she wanted me to. I would vote for an icecream truck and a dress of French lace. I would vote for all the crazy shit she wanted to do, and agree with everything that made her happy for her big occasion.
I would say mean things about people who didn’t send back their RSVP cards. I’m pretty well versed in 4th grade insults. Her cousin is a stupid mean jerky spite face until she sends back her RSVP. I will continue to say unpleasant things about her until she sends the card back, at which point I will immediately back flip and say how pretty and funny she is. But if she continues to be a snitty stupid head, I will continue to call her such.
I would endeavour to be a great bridesmaid for her. I would plan her the best damn hen’s night this country has ever seen! On her wedding day I would tweak her veil and give her 2 Valium and some expensive scotch and watch her be kind of smashed but still awesome at the same time.
I would make a killer speech at the reception, one that would make people cry and feel tender hearted. I wouldn’t even get that drunk til after the toasts. I would take off my shoes and be the first one on the dance floor. I would dance. Badly. To Vanilla Ice, and everyone would be like “That chick is fucking weird…” But she’d laugh. She’d smile indulgently, hike up her dress and dance badly too. We’d hug and I’d send her on her honeymoon, with some kind of awkward surprise in her hand luggage for airport security to pull out and question her about.
It’s what friends do.

2 comments:

  1. LOVE LOVE LOVE this! I wish you were my friend.

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    Replies
    1. I would be your friend, Debra!

      I'd plan you an excellent fake wedding too!

      Delete