Supposedly the Best Day of My Life

The Unbridaled Jealousy Issue

SINCE last weekend, my pilates instructor (engaged to ensure smooth gliding-like poise down the aisle), has told me my chin has been sticking out further than usual.
One possible reason for this, apparently, is that I'm trying to mask a double chin, but, of course, I don't have one of those (I've got two - there's really no point in pretending), so I've pondered and wondered at what could have brought this on in as little as seven days.
But, in the world of the bride-to-be, seven days is actually a long time, so it could be a number of things (she mused unconvincingly). It could have been a vertebrae put out of joint by an Indian head massage procured to calm my pre-"we're getting married THIS year" nerves.
It could, equally, be protruding because of an issue I have with the level of sulking I've been doing over a number of friends really not being as interested in my bloody wedding as they should be - due to them daring to have intricate personal lives on their own that seem to demand their attention for some unknown reason.
Another potential reason is that, because of my strict-for-four-days-of-the-week diet, I am consistently smelling pastry and Chinese takeaways in the air.
But, my musings are not real, they are the mental meandering's of a woman in denial. The sad truth of the matter is that it's sticking out like an ornamental shelf because my pride has been wounded. And I Don't Like It.
So, I hereby proclaim to the sisterhood of brides-to-be that I have met someone who has shown me the true path to bridal enlightenment and I have scuttled willingly into the shadows. Instead of spurring me on, bathing me in positivity, this perceived show of wedding perfection has made me jealous and twisted, luring me so far to the dark side my wedding will be known as: Bride Vadar - The Return of the Crones.
By the time the Big Day comes along, my whole face will be so malformed and out of kilter I'll have a shiny black helmet screwed on to the wizened pulp of my features. My bridesmaids will march behind me in white uniforms with stun guns as posies, and my poor fiance David will have been brought to the Death Altar, sick, tired and pale, in a gold bikini, from living his last months of freedom in a cell, having been kept under sedation by a little rotund floating robot.
Or something. I mean, What Is The Point of trying to have the "perfect" day if someone is just going to go ahead and do it better than you ever could? If someone's Dad has been growing pink roses in their front lawn for a year to go with the Marquee that is being constructed out of glow worm silk and fairy wings for their idyllic June wedding - how can you do anything except slope away and build an army of clones/orks to bring down the entire human race?
And if the (exceptionally beautiful, funny, clever and rich) blonde in question (who is marrying an Egyptian God) has already organised her seating plan (!), menu and organised the poshest Portaloos in England - I think you'll agree, it's either total rebellion or ... y'know, really going the distance and sticking your chin, like, right out.
La de da. Big smile, pink cheeks, shiny eyes and shoulders back. Because, of course, I don't mean it. I really don't. And, I promise, the weedkiller I bought for those roses is going straight back to the shop. Tomorrow.

posted by Sadie Kenshall @ 8:59 PM