So, given that we are supposed to be getting married in March, we thought we had better arrange some visits to wedding venues.
Having searched on the internet beforehand, I had a pretty good idea of what most of the places would be like and picked four that seemed representative of the options available to us. We visited a couple of city centre hotels, an oak barn and a refurbished Monastery. We were met by ‘wedding coordinators’ who instantly bombarded me with talk of things I had hitherto failed to notice the existence of: ‘cake pops’, chair covers and up-lighters, as well as more familiar things such as ‘the bar’, dance floor and top table. The romance of the wedding was very quickly grounded in reality as I was handed lists of suppliers and prices, and stipulations about a minimum spend.
I say ‘I’ not ‘we’, because that is exactly how it was. It was as if my Intended had become invisible. Ladies, visiting a wedding venue is the only time that you will speak to a salesperson with a man by your side, to find the man completely sidelined and ignored in your favour. The sales adviser will direct all proceedings at you and only occasionally condescend to involve the ‘Groom’ in a joke (usually about his lack of interest in the whole affair). The result of this is that the jokes become a self-fulfilling prophecy. My Intended began to look bored after about 10 minutes of being excluded from the conversation. Failing to make eye contact with the sales adviser, he started to watch my reactions instead.
I found it all slightly disconcerting at first, but soon began to enjoy it, remembering the boring two hours I had spent watching him buy a car. (I did get to test drive the car. The salesman said I had ‘done very well’. He was highly amused). On this occasion the amusement was all mine as the wedding coordinator pityingly said he was getting
‘…what I call ‘groomface’. It’s when it all gets a bit too much for them.’
As ‘groomface’ and I walked out of the venue, I enjoyed the feeling of, for once, being placed firmly in charge of proceedings. Although the day being constantly referred to as MY day seemed rather divisive, and made me feel solely responsible for it. I could imagine this making me a tad ‘bossy’. According to urban legend, however, this would make me a ‘Bridezilla’. The sight of a woman totally in charge of an event is obviously still so unfamiliar that the only way it can possibly be described is to liken the woman to an enormous mutated lizard with atomic breath.
Here is Godzilla, looking remarkably like a woman in wedding dress…I look forward to my transformation, and hope I get the superpowers to go with it.