A hitch in the Fairytale…
I don’t think I want to get married.
The thing is, I have this sinking suspicion I may be gay.
Or busy that day, or something.
I mentioned this to the Irish one last week, and unsurprisingly, the conversation did not go well.
‘I am not sure I want to get married.’ I accidentally shouted, desperate to unburden myself from the heavy feeling.
I probably should have waited until a more appropriate time.
‘You are telling me this while I am having a poo?’ came the irritable response from behind the door.
‘Sorry, I just couldn’t wait any longer.’ I responded, stroking the door handle ‘The thing is, I think I may be gay, or busy that day, or something.’
I didn’t get a response for a while and had naturally assumed he was busy crying at the sad loss of our relationship.
A moment later the door opened and he matter of factly put me back in my place.
He knows me too well.
‘You know,’ he started, as I caught his glance and upon realising I had been busted shuffled away in a halfhearted strop ‘even if you are gay, it is too late. This wedding is going ahead. You are going to have to get on a plane, you are going to have to wear shorts and you are going to have to bloody help me with the menu’s!!’
My feet aren’t cold or anything.
It’s not that.
I love the Irish one and the whole ‘Top o’ the mornin’ green leprechaun’ thing he has going on, and I suppose in the grand scheme of things, he will do as a life partner, he really does make great potatoes after all, it’s just, I can not be bothered with getting married.
It’s such a bloody FAF!
Am I missing something here?
‘I’ll have a hot chocolate please, with extra whipped cream.’
‘Are you ok Lexy?’ The lovely blonde Starbucks barista asks me, nearly dropping the cup in surprise as I detour from the usual enjoyment free, extra shot, extra dry, extra hot espresso I order.
The truth is, no.
I am not ok.
And although I know it is ok not to be ok, I just wish I was ok, because not being ok, doesn’t feel ok when I have so much to be ok about right now.
Does that make sense? (Hey, don’t forget to nominate me for best Writer in this years Mad Awards…ok? Because clearly although I am not ok, I am ok at being a literary genius ok?)
This whole wedding Palava is driving me insane.
I am not a planner.
I hate planning.
How on gods green earth do I know what people will want to eat for dinner 7 months from now, on a hot Floridian Thursday afternoon?
Why can’t we just order our food on the day?
Why does it all have to be so organised.
I can’t be organised!!! It goes against everything I am!!!
Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck are coming, what more do we possibly need to organise?
I have already chosen my dress, my shoes and the man for gods sake, seriously, what more do you expect from me?
I am rebelling now and it is ok, I do realise this.
But I am not ok.
I hate wearing shorts.
I won’t be getting married in shorts, just to be clear, but one of the occupational hazards of getting married in Florida I guess is, at some point over the two weeks, I am going to have to wear shorts.
This basically means that as usual, my legs will rub together in a most ungainly way and ultimately I will end up spending the better half of our time there with ghastly thigh burns and having to walk like I have pooped my pants.
Also, I hate flying, with a passion.
I would rather suck a scorpion.
WHY DID I PICK DISNEY WORLD IN FLORIDA, WHAT WAS I THINKING?? 9 HOURS ON A PLANE!!!
And then we get to the crux of it.
Somewhere in my wedding speech, or someone’s wedding speech I want some one to talk about my brother.
And there we have it.
I want Jason to be there.
I need him to be there, protective and gorgeous and tall and sturdy in his finery, his blonde hair turning blonde in the sun.
I have these visions of him hoisting Addison up on to his shoulders, the same way he did with me when I was little, and throwing him in to the pool.
I have this fantasy of him being the one who collects me in the limo to take me to the church. He will open the limo door and I will scream and cry and run to him, because I dreamt of this for my wedding day and I am so happy he made it.
I have this daydream* of him being the one I have a drink with the night before, sitting on the white sands of the Grand Floridian beach like we did as kids, growing up together.
I spent my whole life dreaming of his speech and how it would go, of him presenting the rings, but unfortunately for me, none of this is going to happen is it?
Because unfortunately for me, Jason is unable to attend, due to an untimely case of being dead.
And that sucks arse. (Again. Don’t forget- BEST WRITER OK?)
Also, while I am on the subject, this whole wedding planning thing is also driving me insane, because to be honest, it just goes against everything I believe in.
I hate admitting I am in love.
I am in love, but why do people need to see it.
I hate admitting I need someone.
I can’t even admit it to myself.
‘Oh wow you are getting married this year!’ The barista gushes as she notices my ring ‘are you terribly in love?’
‘He’s alright’ I mutter, grabbing my whipped cream delight and disappearing in to my corner. ‘I suppose he will do.’
I know she thinks I’m weird, and ok, maybe I am.
But I think I have reason to be.
I am not sure I want to get married.
I think I may be busy that week, or something.
I feel itchy just thinking about the whole thing.
I do love him, though.
And I guess spending the rest of my life with him would be ok.
He is you know, the love of my life and I adore him and our time together, I miss him when I am not with him and he makes me laugh like no one else, plus you know, he is alright looking I guess. I definitely you know, love him. (Can we move on now?)
My therapist says I should just tackle one problem at a time.
With that in mind.
Does anyone know a cheap surgeon who would be willing to suck the fat out of my thighs as a wedding gift?
*A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dreams that you wish will come true. – Cinderella.
**It’s because I like you, I don’t want to be with you. It’s a complicated emotion.- Finding Nemo.