Then there is the booze – and not just the fact that I can’t have (much of) it while everyone else is swilling champagne / fruit punch / wine / gin at high speed. There is also only so much fizzy water a girl can drink. I tend to vary it with a soda and lime here, an orange juice and lemonade there, but there comes a point where I just can’t do any more fizz… (I don’t get that way with champagne / cava / prosecco – strange, eh?)
And as a side point to the booze, there is the fact that I’m often driving at these occasions. Which would be fine – I like driving (except for parallel parking and that doesn’t tend to feature much at weddings) – except that following is usually the sequence…. People announce that they are ready to go, I visit the ladies (for the 515th time) and return to find that they have;
a) ordered / been bought / found another drink
b) decided to get up and dance to YMCA / rock the boat / New York, New York or
c) gotten into deep conversation with someone who appears to be crying their eyes out.
When I do eventually get the renegades into the car, they all then helpfully give me “pointers” on how I should reverse, which turn to take, and other such useful tips. All the way home.
I could go on – about going to the hotel room early ‘cos I’m knackered, only to be woken up by people singing outside or my husband barrelling through the door… About the lack of loos in churches… About forgetting my gaviscon after eating a 7 course meal…
But you get the idea – I really am an expert. It’s nice to be good at something. Roll on the next one, I have the blue dress dry-cleaned, and the car-keys ready.