This story is in response to the Day 2 prompt from Shimelle’s Blogging for Scrapbookers class.
My wedding day dawned bright and shiny (which was quite a surprise, as the day before had been dark and rainy). It was quite a strange feeling to wake up knowing that I was beginning a very new and different life. I had just slept my final night in my childhood bed. My three favourite girls were asleep in the room next door, but it wasn’t long before we began the preparations for the busy day ahead.
Hair and makeup was up first, while inhaling a breakfast of croissants and champagne, in the knowledge that we might not eat again until that night. Dresses were donned; theirs blue, mine white. Mum kept us fed and sane, while Dad flittered around, not quite knowing what to do with his houseful of nervous females, while being just as nervous himself.
The photographer arrived and spent a good couple of hours posing us all and finding our best angles. He even got Mum to smile, which is quite an achievement. I think Dad was a bit disappointed that the photographer didn’t use the back garden more, as he’d spent the last two weeks grooming it for the occasion.
We seemed to have plenty of time to get ready, although I’m not sure that was a good thing, as the more I stood around, the harder it got to breathe. Final touches were added – the last coat of lipstick, and the essentials – new shoes, an old hankie of Nanna’s borrowed from Mum and a blue garter. Finally, the cars arrived – beautiful new Jaguars – and we took off for the church, my girls in one car, and me with my parents in the other.
Driving to your wedding is quite a surreal experience. Everyone loves to see wedding cars, so there’s a lot of staring. But I kind of felt disconnected from it all. Nerves and excitement had taken over. It was almost time…
As much as I would love to scrap this story right now, I can’t find any of my wedding photos except for the actual pro album… Anyhow, the story is here for later. And that’s half the point.