Sometimes it takes something serious to put ridiculousness into persepective. I speak, dear Reader, of course of my own ridiculousness.
After throwing myself about (metaphorically) over the photos, it took a text from P this morning to make me realise that if I look awful, in real life, in the photos , it just doesn’t matter. P, who is stoic on the matter of health, who has never had a bout of man flu in his life (“Don’t FUSS” being his mantra), who almost never goes to the GP, sent me a text saying that he’d gone to the doctor/hospital: “I think there’s something wrong with me”.
Now, I have a tendancy to catastrophize, but my heart squeezed painfully in fear. He’s been waking in the night, choking and gasping for breath, in a cold sweat. And getting headaches and spitting blood. He’s now had blood tests and x-rays and there doesn’t seem to be anything seriously wrong, thank goodness.
But it makes me realise, all that matters to me is standing up in front of most of the people we love (and a few assorted hangers on ;-)) and saying that I love him and I want to be his wife.
The chances are that I am not going to be happy with the way I look – I will be a dumpy, fat, older bride and there’s nothing I can do about any of that. The photos are going to show that too as unfortunately the camera never DOES like (damnit). But. I will be a happy bride, surrounded by people I love and marrying the man I love.
On a shallow note: advice please. My beautiful oh-so-expensive shoes (easily the most expensive item in my wardrobe) are crippling. Never believe the hype about expensive shoes being more comfortable (I still have scars on my feet from Jimmy Choo ballet pumps). I am wearing them in - currently over socks for an hour or two each evening in a desperate attempt not to add a rictus expression of pain to the photos. But I think I’ll need to change in the evening if I am to dance or, you know, walk or stand or something. I had thought ballet pumps but to lose 3” is going to give me a problem with the hem of my dress. So, given that we’re having a barn dance, I wondered about cowboy boots. What do you think? Witty and practical or hideously mismatched? My dress is quite sparkly and vintage looking but funnily enough, the only real bride I found a picture of was wearing boots. Of course, she was from Texas and not East London.