On a lighter note, from my rantings last week, I found something that made me smile. Whilst browsing t'internet for some suitable reading or other for our pending nuptials, I stumbled across this. I'm sure that many women would be appalled that this kind of literature still exists in print, I, however, think it's bloody brilliant!
A little part of my would quite like to have a go at this, but I fear my quick temper and inability to keep my mouth shut would have made me a most unsuitable wife during the 1950's. Shame though, they had great frocks then.
From 'Housekeeping Monthly' in May 1955
1. Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have be thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.
2. Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.
3. Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.
4. Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.
5. During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
6. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.
7. Be happy to see him.
8. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him. Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
9. Don't greet him with complaints and problems.
10. Don't complain if he's late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.
11. Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
12. Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
13. Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
14. A good wife always knows her place.
When Boyf and I got engaged I was determined that I wouldn’t turn into one of those Bridezilla-types and so far I think I’m doing okay.
Don’t misunderstand me, I’ve been to plenty of weddings to know what I would and wouldn’t like to have on ‘my special day’ … good god that phrase alone is enough to make a sane person want to hurl… but, I have discovered that planning a wedding is like walking through a minefield of choices.
Boyf and I often talk about what we’d like. Sorry, just realised I’m not allowed to call him Boyf anymore. The plethora of websites, magazines and wedding forums inform me that he is now to be referred to as H2B. Yes really. As in Husband-to-be. Anyone need a bucket yet? Good, then I’ll continue.
So H2B and I … nope, can’t do it. He’s Boyf and that’s how he’ll stay until he graduates to Husb.
Right, Boyf and I have discussed cakes, flowers, cars and all the usual stuff and you think you know what you’d like until you read a magazine or go to a wedding fair or log onto a brides' forum and find out that nooooooo, you can’t possibly want a beautiful simple wedding with tasteful décor and your favourite people all around you. You don’t really want a nice wedding ceremony with music that means something to you, followed by wine, food and dancing interspersed with your friends saying nice things about you both.
Apparently this is all wrong. What you really want is a wedding that people will talk about for centuries to come. A service with real passion and meaning, oh, and tears. Gotta have readings and speeches that induce tears. And vomit-inducing vows. What the hell is wrong with ‘for richer for poorer’ and all that? Okay, so I’m not so keen on the ‘obeying’ lark but I think they let you leave that out these days.
What you also really want is the releasing of doves (oh lord kill me now), chocolate fountains, photo booths (I kid you not) and colour co-ordinated EVERYTHING. Your invitations must match the reception décor, which must, in turn, match the shirts of the guys in the band. The favours should be meaningful, eco-friendly offerings made in a fair-trade commune on the Isle of Skye and delivered to you by carrier pigeon.
You will dance the first dance of your life in front of cheering friends and family, for which you will have spent a fortune receiving lessons from the camp/slutty/boisterous* one off Strictly Come Dancing (*delete as applicable depending on your budget) and whilst it seems great at the time, the wedding DVD will indicate that it was actually the most cringe worthy 3 minutes of your entire life… even if you live to be 100 years old.
But what worries me most is that all these magazines are making me believe that I should be doing all these things even though every bone in my body is screaming not to.
I’ve ordered a dress that I fell in love with the minute I saw it. It’s not your usual flowing billlowy princessy bridal dress. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been to a wedding and seen anything that similar. It’s a bit different and a bit quirky, still very weddingy but just a bit more suiting to my personality. I’ve tried on various veils as I’m not really a veil person so who knows what I'll end up with.
But 3 weeks after ordering the dress I’m being brainwashed into panicking that I’ve really screwed up quite badly. This is my chance to look like a princess, to wear something I’ll never wear like this again in my life. I’m supposed to ooze sophistication and class, and be trussed up tighter than I can possibly imagine rather than be comfortable and a bit different. I’m having a real crisis – I’m not sure if I like my dress and I’m damn sure I don’t like the jacket I’ve ordered. Why the hell did I do it? Apparently these are normal anxieties (according to the forums of mental brides I have trawled) but I didn’t sign up for normal!
And then there is my chosen scent for the day. The special scent I will remember forever to remind me of the day. What the heck?!?!? I’ve never heard of anything so bloody ridiculous. Yes ladies, according to the magazines (which are every bride’s bible over these coming months) you should have a special scent, a complete makeover, a hairstyle that will add 5 years onto your face and a groom so scared of looking scruffy he looks like he has a broom handle inserted somewhere the sun doesn’t shine.
I don’t want or have any of those things. I want to wear my usual perfume. The one I know smells good on me and not like some tart's boudoir. And our first song, well it’s just one we both really like. It may not necessarily be romantic and it certainly doesn’t appear on any ‘first dance’ list I’ve seen but it's what we want.
I don’t want to obsess about what colour napkins will match the centerpieces and I don’t want glittery curtains dangling behind the top table. So does that mean I’m not really into my wedding? Does that mean Boyf isn’t the one? What am I doing? Should I be getting married at all? If I’m not an obsessive Bridezilla then am I a proper bride ?
I guess I’d better log onto the forums and consult my bible to find out...
PS. Will I continue to buy the mags and read the forums if they wind me up this much?
HELL YES!!!! did you really need to ask?
About a week after buying the ring, I'd finally stopped suffering from what appeared to be some kind of amoebic dysentery (okay, probably just a bug but it was fairly horrific and lost a whole dress size in 3 days!), the Boy decided we were going somewhere 'nice' for dinner rather than the usual beach shack.
'Marvellous' I thought. We dolled ourselves up and taxied down to 'Fiesta' - apparently the most romantic and posh restaurant in Goa.
http://www.fiestagoa.com/
All excited, we drew up outside... and discovered it was closed! It was the only night of the week it shuts...
Boyf seemed extremely deflated and chain smoked for a while before announcing that we would have to come back tomorrow. Fine by me!
So back we came, 24 hours later, again dressed up to the nines. I was a little sceptical, if I'm honest. This restaurant is opposite Goa's biggest club. How could it be a romantic open-air dining experience if you're next to the biggest and loudest club? I soon found out. We walked through the most amazing pathways into the restaurant. They seemed to go on forever with wonderful foliage and lights. We must have walked halfway along the beach as by the time we got to the maitre'd there was not a sound of outside life. Taking us past enormous golden statues of Ganesh and chubby sofas, he led us into the restaurant and found us a beautiful table in the 'corner'. I use the term loosely as there were no real corners, just a smattering of tables laid out randomly dressed in rich coloured table linen. Beautiful.
Once we'd drooled over the menu and ordered some imported European wine (India is gorgeous, the food is gorgeous but the wine is shocking!) we settled into the evening and enjoyed the coastal breeze and atmosphere. The next hour is a bit of a blur to me honest. I remember ordering food and I remember eating it and I remember the proposal but I'm not sure at which point in the evening it happened.
I remember The Boy going of the loo with his rucksack, which seemed odd. He came back quite distracted and mumbled a lot. The next thing I knew, he was on bended knee with a walnut box in his hand! I can't remember what he said and I can't remember replying, I just remember crying .... a lot! Yes ladies and gentlemen, I'm a crier. And it showed. He was so nervous but thankfully my blubbing amused him and he said something about bringing me out to enjoy myself. Our waiter looked on completely bemused. I don't think he had a clue what was going on but what did we care?
So do you wanna see the rock then? Here you go.
What do you think? I love it! With hindsight I probably would not have had the henna tattoo put on that hand but what the heck.
So, what about that walnut box then... well it wasn't the one the jeweller had given us. This was one that The Boy had specially made before leaving the UK. In it had been a ring he had bought before leaving the UK too - he figured he couldn't turn up with no ring but knew me well enough to know I'd probably like to choose my own. The planning that had gone into this proposal was unbelievable! For three nights I'd sworn about his boss for making him stay so late at work - he hadn't been at work... he'd been at the shops trying to find a ring. He'd chosen one but the jeweller messed up and the wrong one was delivered so he was back to the drawing board. He'd also had a mare getting the walnut box made - yes m'dears, he had it made. And inside it was a beautiful inscription about me being his best friend and wanting to marry me. Oh god, I'm welling up just thinking about it.
And that's just the start of it. He'd decided to propose way back in June when we were trying to work out where to go on holiday. He figured that India would just about be special enough! and as for the girlfriends going suspiciously quiet, yes you guessed it, they knew too. And his best mate, yep he knew. And my dad. He'd asked Daddy B's permission before we got on the plane. In his confused state, my father thought that The Boy wanted to actually marry me in India.... Dad's eh?
So there you have it, that's why I had to say yes. What more could I want? Someone who can put that much thought into the proposal deserves an unreserved YES!
I'm sorry but I have to interrupt the proceedings to share something I stumbled across fleetingly...
http://www.channel4.com/programmes/my-big-fat-gypsy-wedding
I don't really know what to say about this, but somehow, being dragged from a horse-drawn carriage as my dress makes it impossible for me move under my own steam, is not how I envisage starting my wedding day. Hey hey, I guess it takes all sorts.....
So, there we were standing in a Jaipur Jewellers (yep, a real jewellers in India, not a posh curry house in Hampstead) when The Boy sees my eyes light up at the pretty sparkly things.
Him: anything you like?
Me: everything!!
Him: Seriously, pick something, I said I wanted to get you nice jewellery for Christmas.
Okay, time out. I saw the dollar signs on these rocks and thought 'honey, you're getting socks and the new Muse cd for Christmas!', closely followed by 'who died and gave you all their money?' and then 'no-one spends that much on a ring unless......OH MY GOD!!!'
Was I standing there, unwittingly choosing my engagement ring? Or was it really just a generous Chrimbo gift? What would you do? I may as well pick something I like but, what if...? I mean, it's a lot of money... Meanwhile the rest of our group looked on curiously wondering if they were witnessing something very special. I heard whispers of 'engagement' and 'proposed' but The Boy quietly laughed those off.
The assistant sussed my reluctance at such an extravagent purchase and took my demeanor as an elaborate haggling technique and kept knocking the price down on something I was clearly very keen on. The Boy got more interested at this point and pressed me further to see if i really liked it. I ummed and ahhhhed for a bit and the assistant took some more off. I walked away and told him he couldn't spend that much on a Christmas pressie. The assistant went to see his manager and knocked yet more cash off! What's a girl to do? I relented. The ring was beautiful. Engagement ring or really expensive present, what did I care? The Boyf parted with his credit card and tucked the little box into his rucksack.
Naturally, back on the coach, the rest of the girls wanted a closer look. The box reappeared and I was surrounded by a bunch of envious females all looking daggers at their partners. There were a few nudges about it's purpose, but I batted those away. How can you be sure? Had there been any warning signs? Well, if the truth be told, there were one or two. Two girlfriends who had been pressing for info on whether we would be getting married any time soon had mysteriously shut up about 3 weeks before The Boy and I went on holiday. I had also overheard The Boy's best mate whispering 'good luck' 2 days before we jetted off. But that could be anything right?
Anyway, I'm in India, I should be enjoying the sights and sounds and smells not pondering something that may never be. So enjoy it, I did!
I wanted to start writing a blog as soon as I got engaged but anyone who has ever been involved in wedding planning will tell you that you just don't have time to blink! It's now been almost 4 months since The Boy stepped up the plate and turned me into a sobbing, dribbling mess. Seriously, I was that bad. Onlookers must have been convinced he'd just dumped me or told me of impending death or something.
So, I'll try to recount my thoughts to this little blog in a sensible order. If not for your sake, then for mine. I want to remember everything about this experience because hopefully I'll only be doing this once. Though, for the life of me, I'm not sure why I'd want to remember some of it. If you read this then you'll probably wonder that too. But hey, who needs boring and predictable?
