I got engaged aeons ago – we’re talking years. Soon, maybe even cat years. It was kinda fun when my partner professed his love for me, but the next part, the getting hitched part… Jiminy Cricket what a scary, damn pain. While being treated to a gathering of musty smelling relos and pissed friends toasting bubbles in your honour, cheering vehemently as you successfully cut into layered sponge cake is sorta OK, the apartment-deposit price tag, and months, years, whatevers of planning have successfully deterred me for three long years.
‘Don’t you want to get married?” inquisitive and slightly concerned friends started to ask around the two years and counting point. Well, yeah, truth be told I do, I managed to bag a partner who doesn’t seem to register whether or not I’m donning track pants and pimple cream, or normal, organised people clothes, including shoes. It’s taken me a lifetime.
But see, there’s this looming, concrete wall obstructing all my good intentions. I am 100%, hopelessly, and utterly crap at being a bride (and getting dressed properly). Setting a date? But there are so many days. Finalising a guest list? pffftt…impossible, I give up on politics. Picking a theme? Hahahaha….I’ll see you at the pub.
My family have tried everything to shake the wedding-ineptitude out of my core. Money was smacked on the table, offers to help with venue selection and seating charts thoughtfully made, kind-hearted friends even started the laborious task of creating a compulsory bride-y Pinterest board. And yet, while all this magnificent generosity of resources and spirit was taking place, the kind that would set most bride hearts aflutter, you know what I wanted to do? Eat a block of tasty cheese.
Four of my friends got engaged shortly after I was presented with my sparkly ring. It’s a bit like musical chairs at a certain age, everyone starts sitting down. I watched in awe as each girl pal navigated the event planning with the methodical organisation of an army strike, graciously hosted the wedding and reception thing, completed honeymooning to a tee – some even passed GO and collected a growing belly with a human inside. Yet the usual life motivational nudges of peer pressure and fomo have failed dismally to spur me into anything resembling wedding action.
So what to do?
I’m beginning to believe there really is such a thing as ‘the bride gene’ (cheers for the support Sex & The City) and some of us are predisposed to being a bit handicapped. But after a few years of berating myself in unison with everyone else, I’ve come to the decision that, you know what, I do truly suck at being a bride, and I’m owning it. After all, what’s the alternative? Ceremoniously anointing myself as a white dress dud every time someone looks at my ring finger? Keep a thick elastic band on my wrist and flick it at a distance every time I encounter un-bridelike thoughts (ps. it’s often)? No, the appropriate adult decision is to accept utter bride crapness and elevate it to the art form that I believe it is. Life is about perspective after all.
So here’s how it’s done- the elegant way to rock being a lame bride like it’s nobody’s business, which actually, it really fucking isn’t.
Wear your engagement ring haphazardly
Raw diamonds not matching your trackies, 9-5 getup, or otherwise? No stress shitty bride. Whip that sucker off and replace with the $10 thing you picked up at the markets – we know you’re more excited to wear that anyway. Tomorrow, you can continue to wear your engagement ring with as much pride as a technicolour rainbow at mardi gras- if you feel like it.
Keep gushers guessing
“Oh wow!! Congratulations, you must be so excited! Have you set a date?”
“Thanks, yeah it’s good I guess. Grocery shopping sucks alone, I used to get tennis elbow carrying the bags.”
Never tell your engagement story
Simply respond: ‘I don’t remember’ with a faraway look in your eye, perhaps throwing in a well-timed twitch or two for the more advanced.
Throw an engagement party
This requires effort, but does a marvellous job at throwing wedding-pushers off-kilter. You show you have the capability to manage an event, are serious about engagement/wedding protocol, but follow up with zero action. An elaborate, yet cunning, strategic device.
Walk around being annoyingly in love
My favourite. Canoodle with your partner a lot, everywhere. Laugh at in-jokes, hold hands, fingers intertwined, while walking in unison – that sort of shit. The point? Nobody can work out why the hell aren’t these two are so marriage-averse. Genius.