*Hello lovelies…Charlotte here (albeit briefly). I am going to introduce you to Pamela (although for some of you that read her hilarious comments she needs no introduction at all)…resident RMW reader and ravishing redhead. Pamela is going to share her biggest wedding “fear”…please feel free to leave her some love at the end of this post.
Pamela: The last day of 2012’s Easter bank holiday will now forever be known (and certainly not affectionately so) as ‘Meltdown Monday’. The Big C had gone on an arty-farty mission to London town and I was at home alone with the dog. I was meant to be undertaking my own artistic endeavours (Chanel nail polish in ‘June’ at the ready – a pale, ‘creamsicle’ orange according to Vogue.), catching up on my reading (Heat, Look, Glamour and Marie-Claire all in a nice stack) and generally avoiding eating anything chocolate-covered and egg shaped (final dress fitting booked in for 30 June – must have arms like Jennifer Aniston and a torso like Jennifer Lopez). Thoroughly busy day planned, yes?
I am, on the whole, good at being alone. I like being solitary. I can amuse myself for hours before I even have to speak to another soul. In fact, it’s more like days. When we go on our holidays the Big C always has to remind me that other folk require a certain level of engagement, “Pamela, you have been laid on that sunlounger, in the same floppy hat, for three days straight now. The fact that you are on your fifth book and flip yourself over every 45 minutes is indeed the only indication you have given that you are still alive.” Me told. Still happens every year though.
However, that Monday I should not have been alone. I could have done a million and one other things (gone and seen my big sister and try to convince her to call her unborn baby, Clint, met up with my best friend to buy yet another unnecessary but totally required Zara blazer, gone digging at my aunty’s allotment – I have been to the allotment but only for the shed biscuit tin and the gossip, no digging has yet been undertaken – hit the treadmill at the gym with old school Britney ringing in my ears). But I didn’t…
Instead I sat on my sofa and had a major wedding wobble. In fact, wobble is an understatement…it was more of an earthquake. And all because of one teeny tiny element of the day…
I’m not sure I will actually make it down the aisle. And it isn’t because of my heels. They may be ridiculously high but I grew up on nights out in Liverpool. I can do high.
You know that moment that brides everywhere talk about – when you arrive at the church with your family and best girls and every head turns to look at you. When you’re on the arm of your papa and see your groom at the bottom of the aisle? When you just know this is going to be the best day ever? Well, that, quite frankly makes me feel sick and I could well do without it. Thank you very much. Is there a side entrance I can come in at?
Now, in the land of RMW, where everything is ‘your day, your way’ one would think I would be able to do-away with the whole aisle bit of the ceremony (we are getting wed in a church) and I could maybe arrive at the church with the Big C, or even be there before all the guests or just, well, I don’t quite know, do something else. However, I am marrying a traditionalist. The Big C is a stickler for ‘how things should be done’ and to him, it’s really important that I get myself down that aisle in traditional bridal styley. It’s as important to him as it is to me that my hand-dyed paper doily place settings are just the right shade of peach, and I won’t be doing without those blinking doilies, I tell you…so, for him, I’m going to have to get myself down that aisle.
The Big C is somewhat of a peacock (so much so that he is incorporating said bird’s feather into his buttonhole) and cannot wait to stand up there in front of all 76 guests, in his Hugo Boss suit and do the wedding do. He has tried, God bless him, to understand my fears, but alas, we have now reached a ‘men are from Mars, women are from Venus’ point in the proceedings.
“I just don’t get it, Pam. I see you when you go out with Lisa* (*the best friend). You’re hardly a pair of shrinking violets are you?! We have more fake hair in our cupboards than the Raquel Welch wig line, more tan than the cast of TOWIE and enough bows and ribbons to make Little Bow Peep weep. Surely this whole aisle thing would be your thing? And, even if it’s not, can’t you just do what you always do when you’re nervous and ‘style it out’?”
But the Big C is missing the point. On a night out, everyone looks like that. Sure, we all like to think our fashions are individual, but come on…the jig is up, just think how many RMW readers own that Zara blazer…However, on the wedding day, there’s only going to be one person in the white frock and that’s me. And to be honest, as much as I j’adore my dress and cannot wait to wear it, I’m not sure how I will wear all the attention…I am not the Lagerfeld, I am not used to a whole day of people telling me I am ‘fabulous’. It just all feels a bit cringey and a little bit bulls*itty – can I say that on RMW?!
However, I am committed to doing it. It’s a similar feeling to my commitment to the gym. I will go, as it is wholly necessary, but, there are 101 other things I would much rather be doing. So, likening it to my 45 minutes three times a week on the treadmill, I thought it would be made easier if I really liked the song that I was going to be walking down the aisle to. I hate running but stick on Robin S ‘Show me Love’ and I’m on my beach in Ibiza. Looking skinny in a cut out swimsuit. And to get there, I need to run. So, aisle music…
Problematic because there are probably only about three slow songs in the whole world that I like. I’m somewhat of a disco dolly. If I can’t dance to it, what’s the point? So, here are the list of song choices that I came up with and the Big C’s response to each:
MGMT ‘Electric Feel’ (reminds me of our trip to the Garden Festival in Croatia) – “No, Pamela, people will think you’ve taken LSD. You’re meant to be serene, not surreal.”
Nina Simone ‘Here comes the sun’ – “Hang on, your worried about people looking at you and thinking you think you’re some kind of model, but isn’t this a bit like declaring you are like the sun? That’s a pretty bold statement to make. A bit like Lady Gaga’s hair bow – bold and not to everyone’s taste.”
Nat King Cole ‘Ballerina’ (reminds me of dancing round the kitchen as a little girl with my dad) – “But it’s about how she chose her career over love. Are you going to leave me to become some kind of PR supremo a la Max Clifford?”
Fleetwood Mac ‘Everywhere’ – “Seriously, try walking to that song, it’s impossible. Look at you. You’re bobbing away. You can’t dance down the aisle. Granted it may be a YouTube sensation but is that really what you want? Oh, and your dad, he would be singing to it. The pair of you, dancing and singing all the way down the aisle.”
So, there you have it. Major aisle fears. I do not want to be like a grinning buffoon on the day, but neither do I want to look like I am about to endure some kind of open heart-surgery sans anaesthetic.
I don’t want to race down the aisle as we all know how stupid that looks (we went to one wedding where it was like watching Usain Bolt on the athletics track) but neither do I want to prolong it. I am, after all, not Heidi Klum.
They way I see it, I just have to get down it. At the moment, I am not sure how that is going to happen but I will have the old fella next to me and he’s always been more than happy to give me a shove when necessary. Dad’s always know what’s good for their girls. And, as a very dear friend said, “Look, it can’t be any worse than giving birth and everyone says that’s what happens to you after marriage. And we all know how much you like wearing a floral cigarette pant. And you wouldn’t be able to wear them if you were preggo. So maybe, you should prolong the aisle bit for as long as possible and just try to enjoy it?”
Do you have a fear of the aisle? and if not what is your greatest W-day fear?