The irony of me hating the heatwave but getting married in Antigua was pointed out to me this week. All as I fanned myself with a single sheet of paper, attractively wiping the sweat from my ‘tache, while googling to see if there was a product out there made to stop thigh chafe. All of this while on the sauna that is my crappy old train. It’s a glam old life.
I messaged my family in our little WhatsApp group that I was going to hibernate in my freezer until Autumn, when I received the following…
“…BTW I love that you’re moaning about summer and then getting married in the Caribbean.”
I mean, the lady has a point, your honour. I am likely to melt on my wedding day. Or at least have a permanent sweaty ‘tache.
At this point I released I needed to get my family and bridesmaids on my slave list. I need someone, aka mother of the bride, to be on pit patrol at all hours of the day. I need my bridesmaids to either be fanning me, dabbing my brow, or feeding me rum. I need my auntie to follow me with a can of hairspray, ready to tame my ever-growing frizz-ball of a hairdo. I need someone on hand with a trowel to paste the makeup back on as it starts to slide down my face. And, I need my dad to walk me, a parasol and a sprinkler system down the aisle.
I basically need a 24-hour glam squad. And boy do they have their work cut out for them.
I also need some kind of cooling fan system rigged up under my meringue. Or an irrigation system as my beloved mother pointed out. It’s not as if I’m wearing a little bikini. Oh no. I’ve got a dress. With material and everything. I’m going to be hot. And nervous. And nerves make me clammy. I’m going to look like some kind of water feature, when I finally reach my husband-to-be at the top of the aisle, with water spouting from all directions.
I’m really starting to panic now.
Yep, ladies and gentlemen, bridezilla has arrived. And she’s thinking about the fireworks again!!!
P.S Sexy picture right!