One year ago today, Ze Boy graduated to the status of Ze Husband, and I became the third Catherine Prady in the family (a potentially confusing situation, but it hasn't posed any particular problems so far). It all still seems a bit surreal- the wedding part, at least. Marriage itself is (reassuringly) very real, even without the Squidlet kicking me in the ribs periodically to remind me...
(Warning: Those averse to mloo-mlee-mlooting might wish to look away now).
This has been the best year of my life so far, and I'm looking forward, God willing, to a lot more like it. Yes, marriage means adjustments. Yes, it means I have to change my ideas of what constitutes an acceptable level of tidy in our office, and, generally, put up with all that stuff that comes with LIVING WITH A BOY. But I will always have someone to whinge at when things aren't going according to plan, someone to make food for, and someone to discuss the finer points of ninja shrimp with. I will always know that at least one other person on the planet understands the decidedly peculiar way my brain works and, even more surprisingly, won't run away screaming in terror or call the men in white coats.
This time last year, I signed on for a lifetime of this, and I don't regret it one single bit.
Showing posts with label wedding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wedding. Show all posts
Sunday, 25 September 2011
Thursday, 2 September 2010
Boudin
Yesterday, I went to the hairdressers in an attempt to sort out wedding hair.
This is a Big Deal. I do not like hairdressers. For some reason, "just sort my hair out, please" never seems to be a specific enough instruction, and I- who have few fixed ideas about my hair, just not a short fringe, please, I put up with that for quite long enough- end up having to describe in detail what I want doing.
Wedding hair being One Of Those Things That Needs Sorting Out, I went on a mission to find a hairdresser in Lyon yesterday (with Ze Boy's sister for moral support). The first place we visited didn't have time on the date in question, so that was out. The second was very overpriced and the name was slightly odd- Saint Algue (Holy Seaweed? Holy Algae? Saint Seaweed? Strange, however you translate it). In the third, the woman was very rude to us, and accused us of wasting her time because we refused to book an appointment to discuss the possibility of booking an appointment for a test for the real wedding-hair thingy. Yes, it was THAT complicated. And she was THAT rude. I quote: "mais là, je perds mon temps pour rien, vous m'avez vraiment dérangé, et vous ne prennez même pas de rendez-vous, enfin, c'est pas possible, quoi..."
One word: POUFIASSE. (There is no satisfactory English word in this case. Sorry).
The fourth place was fine. I went in, made an appointment for a test-chignon the same afternoon. I came out with hair crunchier than deep-fried seaweed (look! More seaweed! Maybe if I save it we can make sushi?), but it was ok. The hair is now sorted.
To make my hair do what she wanted, the hairdresser put a boudin in it.
Let's see what GoogleTranslate makes of that, shall we?
la coiffeuse a mise un boudin dans mes cheveux gives:
(wait for it...)
The vanity put a sausage in my hair.
It seems my job is safe for now.
This is a Big Deal. I do not like hairdressers. For some reason, "just sort my hair out, please" never seems to be a specific enough instruction, and I- who have few fixed ideas about my hair, just not a short fringe, please, I put up with that for quite long enough- end up having to describe in detail what I want doing.
Wedding hair being One Of Those Things That Needs Sorting Out, I went on a mission to find a hairdresser in Lyon yesterday (with Ze Boy's sister for moral support). The first place we visited didn't have time on the date in question, so that was out. The second was very overpriced and the name was slightly odd- Saint Algue (Holy Seaweed? Holy Algae? Saint Seaweed? Strange, however you translate it). In the third, the woman was very rude to us, and accused us of wasting her time because we refused to book an appointment to discuss the possibility of booking an appointment for a test for the real wedding-hair thingy. Yes, it was THAT complicated. And she was THAT rude. I quote: "mais là, je perds mon temps pour rien, vous m'avez vraiment dérangé, et vous ne prennez même pas de rendez-vous, enfin, c'est pas possible, quoi..."
One word: POUFIASSE. (There is no satisfactory English word in this case. Sorry).
The fourth place was fine. I went in, made an appointment for a test-chignon the same afternoon. I came out with hair crunchier than deep-fried seaweed (look! More seaweed! Maybe if I save it we can make sushi?), but it was ok. The hair is now sorted.
To make my hair do what she wanted, the hairdresser put a boudin in it.
Let's see what GoogleTranslate makes of that, shall we?
la coiffeuse a mise un boudin dans mes cheveux gives:
(wait for it...)
The vanity put a sausage in my hair.
It seems my job is safe for now.
Friday, 27 August 2010
Adressing the Issue Again
Five to ten this morning, the phone rings.
It was the Place My Dress Is Lurking.
My dress- which I was supposed to be picking up from the shop tomorrow morning- is not back from the cleaners yet. My dress, for that matter, has not even been cleaned yet. Apparently, they're lacking a piece of paper with my signature on it saying I accept responsibility for them cleaning my dress. What?
There are now only three days before I leave for France, three days which are also a Bank Holiday weekend. This Could Be A Problem.
Apparently, they're going to clean it tonight and it will be delivered tomorrow by courier. Hopefully. Maybe. I blame the gnomes. Wish me luck and watch this space.
Going to hide in my cupboard now. My mother is trying to play the piano and it's not pretty.
It was the Place My Dress Is Lurking.
My dress- which I was supposed to be picking up from the shop tomorrow morning- is not back from the cleaners yet. My dress, for that matter, has not even been cleaned yet. Apparently, they're lacking a piece of paper with my signature on it saying I accept responsibility for them cleaning my dress. What?
There are now only three days before I leave for France, three days which are also a Bank Holiday weekend. This Could Be A Problem.
Apparently, they're going to clean it tonight and it will be delivered tomorrow by courier. Hopefully. Maybe. I blame the gnomes. Wish me luck and watch this space.
Going to hide in my cupboard now. My mother is trying to play the piano and it's not pretty.
Saturday, 13 February 2010
Adressing the Issue
Wedding planning is not really my thing. Sure, I'm excited about getting married and sure, I want it to be a nice day, but the merest mention of colour schemes is enough to make me feel faint and if I see another Facebook advert for "pre-wedding weight-loss plans" or the like I might actually punch the computer.
Then there's The Dress. Not a dress, but The Dress. I had thought about that a bit, thought about making one, then made a conscious decision to stop thinking about it because it was just annoying me.
On Thursday, I was out in town picking up a few bits of shopping when I saw, on a chalkboard in an alleyway, "wedding dresses on sale". I went and had a look, just on the offchance, and because the shop is actually a sewing workshop/fabric shop/dressmakers that just does a sideline in wedding dresses, it wasn't threatening. To me, no shop that sells animal-shaped buttons can be threatening.
I found a dress. I tried it on, because hey, I'm unemployed and I had nothing better to do. I liked it. I liked it so much that I made an appointment to go back and visit it again this morning...
and...
(drumroll please)
Reader, I bought it.
That was fairly painless, really- if all the wedding planning goes that smoothly, I will be one very happy tree-climbing gnome.
Then there's The Dress. Not a dress, but The Dress. I had thought about that a bit, thought about making one, then made a conscious decision to stop thinking about it because it was just annoying me.
On Thursday, I was out in town picking up a few bits of shopping when I saw, on a chalkboard in an alleyway, "wedding dresses on sale". I went and had a look, just on the offchance, and because the shop is actually a sewing workshop/fabric shop/dressmakers that just does a sideline in wedding dresses, it wasn't threatening. To me, no shop that sells animal-shaped buttons can be threatening.
I found a dress. I tried it on, because hey, I'm unemployed and I had nothing better to do. I liked it. I liked it so much that I made an appointment to go back and visit it again this morning...
and...
(drumroll please)
Reader, I bought it.
That was fairly painless, really- if all the wedding planning goes that smoothly, I will be one very happy tree-climbing gnome.
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