A WEDDING

They say never use a new pair of shoes until you have break them in. Well I sure should have listened to them. Not only are my new pair of Aldo shoes sky high and straining on my ankles, they’re sawing at my skin every time I move!

And why oh why did I have to wear the Carven Ong chiffon tube dress?! I knew I put on a bit of weigh since I bought it but I didn’t think it would be that bad. Now it’s stretching at the seams and I have to hold my breath just to keep it together. Tough act, since I’m also wearing my new Sloggi underwear. So much for the Comfort Revolution! My G-string is riding up my butt, and Oh My God, I feel like scratching my crack. I should sue them for this!

Argh!

As if that’s not enough. The girls are all clinking glasses around me and drinking like fish and wolfing down the third course. Why butter prawns anyway? Doesn’t Steph know I’m allergic to seafood? She knows I break out in rashes and this is supposed to be the best time to meet guys.

Hallo, Steph! Do you hear my thoughts? You’re getting married so me – aka your bridesmaid – should be the one shining at this party, glowing for all the single men to see. Why do you get to wear a nice gown and be the centre of attention? You’re already taken!

Oh, forget it. I’m just going to sit here and wait for the next course and – why hello, handsome! …. and hello to your beautiful wife too. Don’t sit here. Go sit at the back where nobody can spot you coming in late.

This hotel is so humongous you should blend in easily. No one will notice you in this crowd of – what – 500 people? – and in this sea of candy pink ribbons and bouquets and bouquets of dark roses and purple strips that dangle from the roof.

Gosh, who came up with that idea? Candy pink ribbons? Honestly, Steph. I don’t know why nobody has died from shock yet. After all, half of your guests are octogenarians and the other half are supposed to have taste. Yet they’re all yakking away like long lost friends even when the dreadful Frank Sinatra is playing in the backdrop. Isn’t anyone going to tell the dumb MC ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ is a Michael Buble original and not by Frank whats-his-face?

Honestly!