Your own wedding is no place to meet men, sadly
On returning from a super-fun, super-lovely wedding of happiness in Cork, I today reflected – yet again – on my own wedding. (The one that will occur when…erm…yep). In the last few months I’ve decided on a Rajasthani palace (just like Russell and Katy), a little rotunda in a seaside village in New England, an Israeli beach, a Mauritian beach and a Roman hotel.
But now, I think I might not bother with a big fun great weddding.
Because I realised for the first time that your own wedding is the biggest bash you’ll ever be at where you can’t do either of my favourite activities: drink loads and meet men. So what’s the point? I’ll keep it tiny and possibly booze-free, thanks – after all, I’d hate to feel I was missing out at my own party. The Indian palace is out. Here is my new list of wedding spots:
A single motel room off a highway
A doctor’s office
A dentist’s office
Swiss Cottage library
Amen – and chin chin.