Many of you who meander around the musings of my mesmerisingly magnificent Rebecca will understand the monumental mission that managing the initial ceremonial milestone of matrimony can morph into. Without a doubt, the marriage milieu can become magnified beyond most matter of fact measures. Plus there’s all that alliteration to worry about…
Small talk with anyone I haven’t spoken with for more than a few weeks always begins with: “How’s the wedding preparation going?” Now there’s a question without an interesting answer if ever I heard one. Because as much as people are asking out of genuine concern and interest, the truth is that they don’t really care that you’re tossing and turning about whether you want native flowers or non-natives, will serve those delicious little whatevers and blah, blah blah. And I understand, because I have a problem: I have to try really hard to have an opinion.
I know the things that I like about weddings: the service reflects the people, the venue isn’t too hideous, likewise the wedding party’s attire and good food at a reception. After that, it’s minor details. Would I have ever noticed flowers in a wedding? Not really. Have I ever thought about what colour I’d want my suit to be? Probably not more than once or twice.
It’s not a lack of caring. Bec’s been amazing in wanting to make sure that I have input into all the decisions being made, and I really want to do this thing together, not have Bec wear most of the load. But I look at two pictures of flowers, and that’s exactly what I see. Two pictures of flowers. Experience says that flowers make things look prettier. Some flowers fail at that, others do particularly well. That’s as far as my opinions on flowers go, and it’s a real effort to get any more out of me.
Ah, the tribulations of the wedding preparation