So I woke up on Saturday morning dreading the day because I had to go to this awful wedding, it was my cousins but I was the youngest there by far and the people were very snooty. It seems that my mothers family is quite well acquainted with society types (unfortunately this was not passed on to my homely mum) All the guests were hoity toity rich folk. And to top it all off I hate weddings because they remind me that I am completely alone with zero prospects and will likely end up living with a litter of dogs and a parakeet as I live out the remainder of my sad days.
I decided to wear this beautiful lace dress that I had recently bought but didn’t have the occasion to wear and I topped it off with a beautiful occasion hat straight out of the royal wedding! I put on my heels and walked downstairs where my sister was prompt with criticism. “Phwoar you realize we aren’t going to a club right? Seriously you look like a hooker! Go change you slag, unless you plan on working the corners tonight.” I told her that she was merely jealous that I could pull off this look but regardless I changed, I didn’t need her judgy eyes on me all night. I ended up wearing some black garment that could only be described as shapeless sack. I’m not going to lie, I am nothing spectacular in the breast department. In fact from afar I look like a 12-year-old boy, so I put on a bra with a lot of padding to fill the “dress” out. My snarky sister of course commented on the fact at which point my mother stepped in to say “Steph you know she doesn’t have real boobs, she has to fake them in a wonder bra, its not her fault” … thanks mother, way to inspire confidence.
I got to sit in the second row at the ceremony because we were accompanying my gran who can’t hear unless she is upfront. It was all going fine until my mum’s weird cousin Anne who was sitting behind us made me take off my occasion hat because she couldn’t see around it. Well I’m sorry Anne, who died and made you Queen?
After the ceremony, which was dull, as I couldn’t hear a bloody thing and the woman next to me kept coughing, we all went inside for the dinner. And when I went inside I happened to discover that there was an open bar. Well it was a hot day and my mum offered to get me a drink if it would keep me from complaining. And though I am technically underage, she got me a rum and coke (heavy on the rum). She said that if I didn’t complain anymore I could have more drinks; and this ladies and gentlemen is why I put up with this woman, for the rare enlightened times she decides to be cool. So as the night progressed I had more and more drinks until I was so entirely smashed I have very little recollections of the night. I have pieced together the events via some hilarious yet rather pathetic drunken texts sent to my friends.
At one point during dinner I decided to elope with our young rugged looking waiter- seriously he was something straight out of a harlequin bodice ripper. Unfortunately the love affair ended when he took away my chicken. Alas my great love of food outweighed the bonds of love… fat girl problems. I grew antsy throughout dinner, especially when I was told that dancing was not permitted. From what I can decipher from my angry texts, they tried to stifle my “righteous dance moves” … good lord I can only imagine.
I did however decide to give my own speech to my table (who were all strangers btw, apparently I wasn’t even good enough to sit with my own family) I think what I said was rather touching, but it wasn’t well received overall “May you never leave your marriage alive” I have a feeling that they will embrace the meaning of my words later… but perhaps not.
The last thing that I can recollect is preforming an apache dance on a chair to 99 Luft Balloons by Nena. Classic 80’s hit, all German. If you haven’t heard it I strongly recommend listening. And it turns out the person I was preforming for was none other than the owner of the Toronto Star… He seemed a little shaken, I suppose he couldn’t handle a firecracker like myself, although deep down I’m sure he thoroughly enjoyed the performance. It’s a wonder an article wasn’t written about me! It really was professional grade dancing if I do say so myself.
Anyway all’s well that ends well. The happy couple is on their honeymoon in Hawaii and my grandmother is begging for the product to be a great grandchild (erlack) and I’m sitting here in my room typing this to the internet… alone. Oh well at least I’ll always have food to get me through the lonely nights ;(