SoD is living up to its name and continuing to creep up, inexplicably(another ½ lb on since Wednesday). I’m trying not to be all doom-laden about it as it’s not the Proper Official WI, but it’s not helping me feel positive. I really need a decent result on Wednesday to keep my spirits and pecker up (both of which are sadly drooping).
A couple of recent things in blogland have got me thinking about the whole wedding thing. I think that I’d somehow got into my head that because I am getting married, I would somehow be transformed into what I (and possibly society at large) thinks ‘a bride’ should be. I thought I’d have to do some work (ie losing weight) but it really would happen because of being ‘a bride’. The fact is that I’ve been trying really hard for 5 years to lose weight and all I’ve done is maintain. The fact is that I see a metabolic specialist for a reason: I’m not the only one but I’m part of a select band of people who are, through evolution gone mad (and WRONG), genetically predisposed to put on weight and hold on to it. A ring – no matter how pretty – is not going to change that. No matter how much I’d like it to. It’s also not going to make me 10 years (at the very least) younger or taller, leggier, more bountiful of hair and cash. Sadly. It’s not going to create the perfect family with a father glowing with pride, delivering an affecting, emotional speech and with a fund of cash to cater to my every whim. Nor a mother who will sob when she sees me in a wedding dress (actually she might cry but so might I – and it won’t be for the right reason) and want to coo over every detail. Nor will my brothers be proud, jovial loving and supportive. I very much doubt that P will be starry eyed at my beauty (overly endowed as he is with common sense and honesty) and be caught gazing at me with love and holding me tenderly and photogenically for every picture. An engagement ring – even one as pretty as mine – is not going to work magic. Sad but true.
Funnily enough, a friend of mine has just got engaged – she’s in her early 30s I think, daintily slender and blonde with a very proud and generous papa and an adoring brother. Humph. But still, I wish her joy
P showed a curious enthusiasm (for him) in some photos of a bride at our venue in a red dress. I need to explore this. He did demonstrate some incredulity that I was going to get married in white (words like ‘ivory’ have little meaning for men I find), pointing to a van and asking “like that?”. No, not white-van-white. Admittedly I never wear white. And I only have one dress (no, it’s not white, it’s blue). But if I don’t wear a wedding dress, I might regret it. Of course, if I do, I might regret it (see above)!