Wedding Expo

She’s getting married. She’s 4 years younger than me. I’m not jealous. I’m happy for her.

OK I’m a bit peeved that she’s getting married and I’m struggling to make it to the tricky second date. But to be honest that’s not my main concern. My main concern is that I’m expected to get involved in the wedding and care as much as she does. Why? It’s not my wedding. Mine is all ready and good to go. I’ve got a notebook with all the details in case I ever suffer amnesia and I can push that baby out in 3 weeks once the groom has been confirmed… found…sedated into submission, whatever!

Anyway I can’t say too much about the details of said wedding as 1) I’m not party to the majority of the details. The theme is a surprise, even to me. 2) Because I’ve been married before I’ve been warned that I’m not allowed to boss or advise. She wants to make her own mistakes and 3) she’s a bridezilla in the making.

The wedding is over a year away and already the signs are there. I was told that I would have to lose weight by March as that’s when the fittings start. This as I was dragged around a wedding expo in Earls Court listening to false patter about how that dress would look wonderful on me before they quickly turned away when they realised I wasn’t the emotive credit card wielding bride. One coked out looking guy gave his aggressive sales patter for a Hen party spa day on Kings Road and then ruined it by asking if I was the mother of the bride. I will NEVER go to Faces on Kings Road. Ever.

Bridesmaids, as that is what I am going to be, are cheap labour. We are forced to do all of those jobs the groom refuses to do and look like we are enjoying it. I don’t understand why this fallacy is supported by all of society. I want out. I want to turn up on the day, dress in a dress that fits and get drunk like she did at my wedding. But something tells me I’m going to be on duty all night in case one of the errant 5 children allowed to attend come within 5 metres of her dress.

Back the expo and I’ll say this: Wedding expos are for brides who haven’t got an original or creative bone in their bodies. Like in Don’t tell the Bride where they all bleat on about wanting a traditional English wedding in a drafty church I always assumed a wedding was meant to be something you do with the groom. A massive party to announce to the world that if anyone dares touch either of you again the other has legal rights to beat you up. No?

I’m not really a fan of expos. A bunch of sales people trying to sell you a dream home overseas which turns out to be a B&Q tool shed or Erotica….selling cheal home counties sex for those who don’t get any. At least the French expo I went to 5 years ago had decent food. This one had cheap champagne and stodgy cake. I gave all samples my best shot but, how am I expected to lose weight by March at this rate?

Pray for me my precious, this is going to be a LOOOOOONG trail of a year.

© Chelsea Black

Chelsea Black is a writer. Romantically seeking her Fubo (future boyfriend) she often gets distracted by misadventures. She is currently working on her second book, first baby (sperm to be confirmed) and first real career. Chocolate and cocktails are food groups