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Friday, 15 June 2012

I never thought I'd find a woman to marry me (in my jeans)

Today I made my way  to the Boss's dance show, at her Primary  School, to be performed by forty odd twelve year olds who have been dancing together enthusiastically for a whole year,  in  anticipation of this fine show. As I watch the hopeful coordination of  the anxious eager dancers  merging hip hop, disco,and   jazz; the hesitant  child keeping a cautious eye on the others;  the one doing her own thing in happy uncoordination; the one (always one) who dances with instinctive rhythm and perfect grace,  my propensity  to damned leakiness   (starting on the arrival of the eldest, and increasing every year) has to be held in check, least I embarrass the boss (she having reached the age of mortification, at parental lability  and other peculiarities) ). (et tu, boss).   My face squeezed into a rictus of bland ,  I think of how she is the last primary school child, and this the last innocent, uncomplicated SHOW  I will get to go to, Hmm, so I guess I too have ( finally) graduated from Primary School.

A certain leakiness is permitted to me now, anyway, as the Wedding Date approaches, next week. My co workers assure me that at least  one Bridezilla  Meltdown  is proper, or you are disrespecting your pending BIG DAY. Hmm. Maybe. There is certainly  a bit of emotional roller coasting going on.."I never thought I d find a woman who'd let me marry her in my Jeans" the husband in prospect offers, reducing me to helpless giggling hysterics (and they are really very lovely  jeans and he a very   lovely  man).Remarks like  "You are surely NOT letting the boy wear a track suit to you WEDDING" and "WHAT? You are not even having  a Ringbearer?  I would have though you could at least have had a Ringbearer. I could be your Ringbearer" abound from the girls, hanging in the air for days. And I  have become prone to dark visions of what will happen if we don't  ie. give crystal clear directions to  the witnesses  for the registry office, or forget where we hid the wedding rings least they be stolen by such stealthy burglars that we never discover the loss TILL  ITS TOO LATE.  I think I may have reverted  somewhat  to being perhaps Seven? Eight ? years old   and haunted that something black and final will come between me and Christmas, or the summer trip to the sea, and I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO HAVE IT  Somehow. .

Enough already. I have the perfect dress, a back up  dress, the most flattering shoes, two stunningly  chic daughters, the boy signed up  to climb out of the  tract suit for the day and into a pair of jeans (its all relative) (and I would have let him wear the  tract suit, albeit a shiny new one, if he just couldnt), and a most beloved and fabulously  be jeaned , husband to be. The food is booked, the guests asked, the wine chosen. the Registrar of Marraiges primed, . the rings made,  glinting and gold.  On the longest day of the year, we are getting married.