10am – I arrive back and realise that my house is a complete **** tip, and also that the photographer is arriving imminently to take getting ready pics. I zoom around the house and tidy like a mad woman, finishing just in time for my father, then my brother (him, Bridesmaid or Best Man, and brother’s gf were total saviours… we couldn’t have done it without them) to show up. A minute later and the photographers are there. Then the flowers are there (I forgot to mention before that I caved in and ordered a bouquet, along with 10 boutionnaires. By now, I’ve changed into my silk dressing gown. I can’t find the sash, but I grab a mismatched one and my makeup and pile into the tidiest room… my spare bedroom, formerly the “wedding room”.
Now, bridesmaidzilla has sent me several texts this morning, saying she’ll be 5 mins/10 mins etc. By this stage, remaining Bridesmaid or Best Man shows up and we start taking bets on what time zilla will show. However, she amazes us all by showing up only slightly late and looking great. She even changes into her dress with minimal whining, although she moans about the shoes I’ve selected for her, saying she can’t walk in flats and asking if she can wear black shoes instead because MOH’s shoes are “totally grey”. I silence her with a Look which is not entirely deliberate by this stage, due to stress. However, secretly I agree with her about the shoes. MOH’s shoes are not navy blue. They are grey. Quick recap: all I asked of my BMs was that they purchased a pair of navy blue shoes in any style. I ended up buying two pairs, Maid/Matron of Honor was supposed to buy another pair (but didn’t, clearly) and the other Bridesmaid or Best Man was pestered by Future Mother-In-Law into buying her pair. At this stage, I let it go… bigger fish to fry.
I was supposed to be doing a pre-wedding photoshoot with the cats and some props about now, but we are fast running out of time, so it doesn’t happen. For the first time, I realise the wisdom of an afternoon wedding over a morning one. Anyway, I get on with my makeup, the other girls get ready, and then BMzilla pulls off an amazing trick… she can REALLY do hair. I mean, really. She curls mine up within about 20 minutes or so and shoves a load of freshwater pearl hairpins into it. I am deeply impressed and only wish I could offer her a glass of booze. On the other hand, seeing as I haven’t really slept or eaten for about 3 days, it’s probably quite good that we don’t have any to hand.
I can’t work our how much makeup to wear, but Maid/Matron of Honor tells me to wear LOTS because you need it in a white or ivory dress. By the time I’m done, I look as if I’ve been hit with a makeup gun, but I do feel good. Thanks, perfect match foundation! You are awesome.
At this point we are all moving around and the photographer is taking pics of the dress etc. I am doing my nails in cobalt blue, with the help of my brother, who has had to run out and get some polish remover. I ask for something from the bridal emergency suitcase, and (unbeknownst to me) my (pre-laminated, cue-carded) speech falls out and gets lost in a pile of things. But I won’t know this until later. At least my reception dress remains in the case though. Word to the wise… I am so glad that I packed that dress.
I originally had a reception dress made which was cooler than my wedding dress, but I realise it is too bulky and heavy for 32 degree heat. I do, however, have a backup… a dress I got from ebay for £60 as a party dress. From Monsoon, silk, floor length, ivory. At the last moment on Friday night, I decided to switch dresses. Best. Decision. Ever. Not only was this dress smaller (it didn’t need to be taken separately), but it was also lighter and cooler. More on that later.
Anyway… it’s now time to get into my undies and my dress. I have a set of French knickers and stockings which I slip on. I then apply white pasties and a flesh coloured, stick on bra over the top (not sexy, but a necessity) before asking for help to lace me into my burlesque dancer’s waist training corset. This does up a treat everywhere apart from my back, which has muscled up due to my time in the gym. It takes a while to pop on, but eventually it’s comfy. Then the dress goes on.
I was so stressed about this dress… I was so worried it wouldn’t fit… and it almost doesn’t. It takes two people to zip it over my upper back (it fits perfectly on the waist and hips, but the back is a real issue). With two people, we finally get it on, and then have to rearrange my back cleavage. Finally, however, it fits. The next stage is the sash, which needs to be pinned on using a brooch. I selected a white and blue brooch as our wedding colours are navy and ivory, with cobalt and red accents. However, the second it goes on (and I stand there in triumph), the brooch breaks. There is a communal gasp from BMs. I am calm… because type A personality always has a backup brooch.
We get the backup brooch… and it suddenly snaps. But no! I have a third brooch in my emergency suitcase. This one does not snap, and only requires the addition of my pearl earrings and veil. I was originally going to wear a circlet, but I try it on and it’s too much. So earrings, sapphire cross necklace (my everyday necklace) and veil it is. I then shove my deceased Grandma’s lace hankie down my bra for someting old, and attach my something borrowed (a devotional medal) to my shoes, which already have a silver sixpence attached to one and a penny to the other.
I ask for a time check. 1 hour to go. Time for the photographers to go on ahead, and for me to have a wee, which I manage by approaching the loo from the front (the wrong way). Thanks, weddingbee, for that tip! And then I’m getting into my brother’s car with my bouquet, making sure that the house is locked and the keys are shoved into the emergency suitcase. It is over 30 degrees now, and I’m already starting to die. Thank G-d for the air con in my brother’s (posh) car… nobody else’s car has air con. But then, I’m the only one in a dress which weighs as much as the average 6 year old and has sleeves, plus an 8 foot veil. Go figure. BM’s get into my Dad’s car, and we set off. I notice that my brother has put my home made bunting on the front of the car. There would have been tin cans, painted in our wedding colours, for after the church, but Fiance complained and started quoting traffic laws about this. Spoil sport.