The final, final, final countdown

So we’re just about there.

You, dear reader, and I have been on this weird little adventure together.

We are now merely 3 days away until The Mister and I do it. And get married.

Three days.

So I’ve been taking to a few websites offering advice for surviving the week before the wedding.

Yeah, not really helpful.

I’ll tell you why.

I don’t have any money left.

So, the advice of having a ‘last minute splurge’ on a full-body hot stone massage at ‘my favourite spa’ has been more of a quick visit to a shopping centre foot massage kiosk to get a sliver of calm – all while listening to the constant muffled price checks at the Kmart next door.

They also say to try to avoid extra calories, especially booze. Well, they didn’t mention bread. I feel like I keep eating my feelings in the form of toasted cheese sandwiches. The silverlining is that during times of high emotion, it’s what I do. So it’s not like my body is completely shocked by this behaviour.

The list also mentions not to start a new workout. This pleases me greatly. There is absolutely zero chance of that happening.

I learnt this lesson by going to a ball last Saturday night and by Sunday I swear that my feet and legs were going to fall off they ached so much – and that was just from cutting the rug, not a snap decision to fit in an extra Les Mills class. I promised myself at least 6 episodes of Downton Abbey to recover. It sort of worked. I really do need to see the entire season to be completely 100 per cent.

What I did find interesting about this piece of advice (to not start a new workout routine) is that it’s not such a bad idea to go for a walk when you can. If you’re like me and find that trying to keep your thoughts together is like herding cats, get that iPod on your head and listen to some tunes or a podcast or two while strolling around your neighbourhood or if it’s warm enough, have a swim.

Too bad if I wanted a spray tan. Can’t afford one now. Probably not such a bad thing as I bought a new foundation that matched my skin perfectly two weeks ago. So if I got a fake tan now I’d be an idiot – I’d have to buy another foundation that matched the tan.

One new thing I tried last week to reduce my bloating is a colonic irrigation. Yes. I know. A week out from the big day I thought that having a hose carefully placed up my rear end and having a warm water flush would do just the trick.

The bloating did go away, along with my dignity. I cancelled my second appointment as I needed to spend the money on other stuff. Like bread and cheese.

By the way, I am not pooh-poohing (pardon the pun) having one. It just wasn’t such a bright idea to do something so new so close to the day. I was already pretty emotional. So while it gave me a spring in my step, I just wasn’t mentally prepared to go for round two one day before the big day.

A great way of feeling like you’re on top of the money stuff, is to forget some stuff. Placecards, favours, photobooths and fluffy towels in the loos were all considered but ultimately dumped.

The running out of money might also be cause for you to run out of a sense of humour.

My humour has been really hit and miss. Mainly miss.

The unfunny-ness pretty much started last week we were faced with the ‘Superstorm’ footage of New York City. Our honeymoon destination.

It continued yesterday when my dad (with whom I already have a strained relationship) revealed to me that he was going to surprise me with a ‘couple of special waiters’ at the reception.

If he had said shirtless waiters or gorilla waiters… I could deal with that.

Sorry for the non-PC-ness here, but he wanted to hire two dwarf waiters.

He wasn’t kidding.

He said that he hadn’t, but even if I hadn’t liked the idea, they would have already been hired and what could I do about it then?


If I hadn’t liked the idea? I do not like the idea.

I kept trying to catch his eye to get him to stop the awkward joke. To reassure myself that he was super-teasing me, that I had walked right into a terrible, terrible joke.

My mum was also listening to this conversation. I couldn’t look at her, but could feel her eyes and soul boring into the side of my head while I screamed on the inside.

OK, so this wasn’t a joke. He really thought it was a cool idea. For his daughter’s wedding.

But my point is, while this was an awful example, I think being four days out of a wedding, or moving house, or about to have a baby, I think you’re kind of entitled to lose a bit of humour. As long as it comes back, you’re OK to be serious for awhile.

The worst thing, along with the decreased humor, has been the increased flakiness.

I have pulled out of 3 things that I really wanted to go to this week. One thing was totally unavoidable – I had to forgo a Beer Week festival in Fremantle for, geez, a wedding rehearsal and the other two things were simply, well, I just couldn’t face them. So I had to do the right thing by myself by taking a raincheck. The good things is that I have great friends that don’t take these things personally…. hopefully…

So, here’s to the next few days being as low-key, as low-cost and as low-cray as possible.

I have to go…my toasted cheese sarnie is burning…