Wednesday 30 January 2002

Sweet Sooz arrived yesterday and oh oh oh, was I ever glad to see her. We'd arranged to meet at the front of City Hall, which is one of those handy un-missable places (except on the weekend, when there are crowds of teenage goths, all looking terribly pretty and having obviously gone to a lot of effort with their look), and having bought pale pink nail polish and waterproof mascara at B00ts I was still early so lounged against the gates in the freezing cold wind. And then my Sooz came rushing across the street, hair flying and eyes sparkling, and there was lots of girly shrieking and hugging and stuff. We repaired to one of Belfast's many truly excellent coffee shops to slurp up warming froth and caught up on all the latest. Even though we had been emailing constantly, and knew pretty much everything that was going on in each others' lives, we nevertheless had no lack of things to yammer about.

Sooz had been on holiday in Scotland - specifically Edinburgh - where she had lived and worked for three years a few years back. So there was lots of gossip to catch up on in re: to her ex-boyfriend (another "Sam" - the conversation got pretty damn confusing at times!), friends of hers, all the boozy nights out etc. etc. Marvellous fun chat, complete with plenty of girly giggling. I have so missed that ... sigh.

Of course I had plenty to talk about too - Sam, naturellement, and where the wedding plans were at, and how my family was behaving its collective self (and that's all worthy of an entry of its own), and how I was coping with everything.  Again, absolutely wonderful to have a comfortable, fun, girly talk with someone who knows me so well I didn't have to explain how I felt about x, y or z - because Sooz knew how I felt as soon as I'd explained the situation or whatever and was ready to commiserate / bitch / snigger as required.

Later that evening (Sooz having come back to our place, dinner eaten etc) it was time for the frock show.

Back when I'd got through the selection of bridesmaid trauma, and confirmed Sooz as my Best Woman (and that's another story in itself - see below) she'd naturally enquired as to what she should wear. As I was emphatically not doing the matching colour-scheme thing, it didn't actually matter what colour she chose, so long as it was a pretty frock that she would wear again. She looked for a long time, I dare say she got rather frustrated a number of times, but hoo boy, the result was worth it. A gorgeous classic knee-length sleeveless shift, in a luscious pinky-lilac colour with an over-layer of pinky-lilac chiffon. To be accessorised with a deep purple stole (the colour combo sounds unlikely I know, but it looked superb and very striking) and high heeled silver sandals (Sooz has great legs and is tall, lucky cow, not like me who looks like Minnie Mouse in heels).

It was kinda freaky really, considering that Sooz hadn't seen my dress when she bought hers, yet they are very similar in cut and use of texture - both have the layered look, are sleeveless with fitted bodices, of classic design, and chiffon a major element. Totally not planned, but they do look totally right for each other, as if they were planned. Ah, great minds think alike - and don't you even dare think of completing that quote!

Ahhhh the bridesmaid question. This must be one of the most potentially angst-ridden and stressful decisions for the bride. Apparently every female the bride knows wants to be a bridesmaid - friends (and which friends? you don't want to play favourites), sisters, husband-to-be's sisters ... and of course everybody from the potential/nominee bridesmaid cohort, to mothers, mothers-in-law, husband, other friends, and people on the street too I am sure, get in on the act: "Who? Who? Who?" Like a frigging parliament of owls. And once the bridesmaids have been appointed, then there's all the other issues - what dress? what style? what colour? will it look good on A. who is short and weighs 80 kgs, as well as on B. who looks like [insert supermodel's name here]. I've heard so many disaster stories, of friendships breaking off and ill feeling and the bride turning into the Monster Bitch From Hell - and that's just over the shoes.

When Sam and I got engaged and began discussing wedding plans, one of the first ground rules I laid down was that I would not, emphatically not, be having that kind of wedding. My dress would not look like a meringue with added cream and crystalllised fruits. No six-pack of bridesmaids, each one looking miserable.  No frou-frou. No flocks of doves being released from gilded cages at the completion of the ceremony. No colour themed-balloons and origami sea-dragons and mime artists. Okay, so I'm dead boring. A killjoy of the highest order. Also, damn sensible.

So the bridesmaid question was easy. I would have Sooz as my Best Woman (refusing to call her a bridesmaid - ew, how antediluvian, also inaccurate - besides she is The Best Woman and that's that) if she would come over for the wedding, and if I couldn't have Sooz I wouldn't have anybody. So Sooz it was. Yay. Except when I actually moved hemispheres and started organising the whole shindig, I encountered the Bridesmaid Push (codename: Operation Girlie Hairpulling). Everyone wanted to be my bridesmaid regardless of the fact that I didn't want bridesmaids and didn't know these people. Sam's sister. Sam's best friend's wife. Other female friends of Sam and his sister and his mother's friend's cousin. Not only were these unknown females asking, nay demanding, to be a bridesmaid, it was on the basis that as Sooz, who just so happens to be my bestest belovedest girlie mate in the universe, was to be my Best Woman (and how often did I have to insist that it was Best Woman, goddammit, not bridesmaid), I must therefore want more bridesmaids, yes more, because "you can't just have one, can you? And you don't know anyone to ask do you? So obviously I'm the perfect choice even though you don't know me from a bar of Velvet".

Needless to say, I got pissed off. Really, really pissed off. No, there would be no bridesmaids. I would not even have Sooz. No. Nothing. Piss off the lot of you. Of course I was nice about it. And of course Sooz still came over for the wedding and of course she ended up being my Best Woman. But honestly, such behaviour.

After Sooz showed me hers, I showed her mine. I'm talking about frocks again, you filthy swine. To reiterate (because I'm lazy and can't be bothered finding the entry where I talked about the damn thing and link to that entry): it is an ivory dress, definitely bridal but no meringue. Not even an exceptionally small cream puff. The bodice is very close fitting but not oxygen-depriving, and sleeveless with the "tank" straps being about 3 cms wide. It has a cumberbund-y thing at mid-rib level, made up of alternating bands of fabric, net stuff, and plaited fabric with little sparklies (crystals) inserted here and there. The cumberbund-y thing is about 10 cms wide altogether, with the bottom edge hitting just above my waist. This is actually a very good design point, although I never would have thought of it myself; I am short, teeny-weeny, petite, whatever, and while I have a proportionally teeny-weeny waist, it is short. So the cumberbund-y thing (for which I will have to find the correct term) elongates my torso and with the way the skirt of the dress falls, makes me look taller. Same principle as the Empire Line, except those dresses make you look pouchy rather than sleek.

Oh the skirt, that's the next thing. It is basically straight, the lining of the skirt is very straight though not hobbling. There are three layers of lettuce-edged ivory chiffon, each layer cut very full and wide and on the bias. Thus even though there is a lot of fabric, the chiffon is so light and cut on the bias that the skirt falls straight and slim, conforming to my little lithe body (hey I can dream!), yet it flows when I move, with a little sweep of train (not so much a train as a caboose) behind. Really rather pretty. After swearing up and down and black and blue that I would not have a tiara or veil, I purchased a tiara and veil (hey I didn't fold over Operation Girlie Hairpulling, give me a break here). They are very pretty too; double layer veil, long (well it is very long indeed on me - it sweeps along with the caboose in fact) with little bunches of sparklies sewn on here and there. The tiara is also very pretty but not OTT  - it's not one of those high and spiky and princessy ones, being more a slightly upraised gold headband with a few sparklies inserted between the filigree (and I shall definitely wear it again - perfect for those days when one is wearing a particularly scungy trackpants and raggy singlet ensemble).

We had a little last minute stuff to do today (Wednesday) - writing out place cards and working out the table settings for the reception, typing up and printing out copies and more copies of the order of service , re-writing the W-Day time-line/schedule (again) and making sure all members of the the bridal party, the ushers (Melissa and The Menace), and family members had a copy so everyone will be in the right place at the right time, and visiting the florist to confirm the arrangements. Schmoozing with the florist was the most fun - I'd met him a few weeks ago and adored him and his work on sight - he has a remarkable knack of sussing out the client's personality and style straight away, and moving on from there. I didn't even bother to get another quote, as what he had sketched out for me was perfect. A fairly loose, unstructured, hand-tied bouquet (small/medium sized so as to not have a Burnham Wood effect on the day) made of ivory tulips, small roses, mini gerberas, some leaves of some kind, and wee sprigs of stephanotis throughout. So today was just about confirming that for moi, the buttonholes for the groom and Best Man, and most important of all, the Best Woman. For Sooz we decided to go for the same thing except pepper her bouquet with some kind of pinky-lilac coloured flower to differentiate from mine (The Bride's).

Sam and the Tramp have a few last minute errands to do on Friday, while I'll spend the day catching up with my side of the family, and hanging out with Sooz.  Sam, The Tramp, and possibly my brothers will all be sleeping over at our place on Friday night and having a little male bonding session in lieu of a stag's night (Sam having refused all offers from dodgy mates to have a full on stag night - lucky for him as I am exceedingly anti the whole stag night experience, and certainly don't want a hen's night). As the house will be very much full - with boys and the entire Australian contingent's luggage, even though they are staying at a hostel-type place, they've left most of their luggage in our hall, oh joy - and bathroom access is at a premium on a normal day let alone a W-Day, I've booked Sooz and I into a hotel for the night (a nice-ish but not too expensive hotel close to both City Hall and the hairdresser's)  so we can have a bit of Bride/Best Woman bonding, a few drinks, room service (dinner and breakfast, not that I'll feel like it), a good night's sleep, and then have a decent roomy place with a good bathroom and lots of mirrors for preparation on the morning of W-Day.

I'm getting married in less than two days. I can't quite believe it, it seems so surreal and distant, as though it's happening to someone else in a galaxy far far away. I guess I've been so busy with the whole organisation deal, which has only happened in the last couple of months, really, plus having the family over, and dearest Sooz, that I haven't had the time or space to myself to get excited. I'm not excited or jittery or anything, and somehow feel as though that's wrong or abnormal of me ... then again, I know exactly what I'm doing, I can't wait to be married to my Sam, and the rest is mere peripheral trivia.

Two days, people. Be excited for me, huh?