Anatomy of a Family Wedding

The Day Before The Wedding
I stand semi-naked in an inconveniently small changing room in a clothes shop in Brunswick, attempting to convince my mother that the lacy pink dress she keeps poking in my direction is not what I am going to wear at my cousin's wedding. ''Cos I don't like it,' I whine from behind the curtain, sounding like a thirteen year old complaining about buying her school uniform. 'I just don't want to wear it!' The look on my mother's face tells me she is yet again wondering how she has raised a daughter who so dislikes being a girl.

Outside the cubicle, I can hear the murmurings of my younger brother, The Boy Wonder, who has been dragged along on this shopping expedition like the true metrosexual/SNAG/shemale hybrid he is, as he flirts shamelessly with the little poppet behind the register. My mother enlists him on her team: 'Try and get her to wear it, will you? She just closes off her mind to anything new at all!'

We go back and forth like this for a while, until a few compromises are agreed upon. The Boy Wonder springs into action, dashing around the shop enjoying the continuing admiration of the staff as he commands, 'We need this in a medium!' and similar. Mum keeps throwing open the flimsy curtain around me with great abandon, and when I say, 'Shit, close it will you!' She yanks it back even harder which usually exposes me from the other side. Who designs those freaking things anyway? And it's the second time lately I've been stuck in one, as...

*flashback*

A Few Weeks Before The Wedding
Snaz and Canoe, my beloved wives and FORMER BLOGGERS *glares* *prays for resumption* drag me into the lingerie department of a major shopping chain. Snaz has finally got me to agree to buy some new bras, my previous ones having been repeatedly declared not up to standard. While I giggle and wander round the store saying useful things like, 'Har har, look at those enormous cups, fill them with water and quench the thirst of an entire African nation', she marches determinedly between the racks, pulling things down with an experienced flair.

Canoe waits patiently outside while Snaz steers me into the change rooms and helps me grapple with piles of satin and webbing and what seems like lever-and-pulley systems - bosomry is a complicated business. Snaz approves of the strapless bra. I am unconvinced. I have never worn a strapless bra, I complain. Surely the mnang-mnangs will not remain under control without the extra support of straps? 'No, no. this is a really good bra. I promise. Try it! Jump up and down! Bounce to your hearts content! Like a bouncy castle! See? You're fine!' I am. I am also, it turns out, a size smaller, but several cup sizes larger, than I have been wearing for most of my adult years. WTF, people? Double-d, for fucks, all I can think it that when you sit in row DD at the theatre you are right down the front because they have taken the orchestra out. (God knows that that metaphor should be taken to mean, aside from the fact that I am an incredibly tragic theatre nerd.)

BUT I DIGRESS.

Back To The Day Before The Wedding
We find a dress. Everyone likes it. And I can wear the strapless bra with it. We find some shoes. None of us really like them, but we're running outta time here, and normal people prepare for these things in advance, so we're lucky I'm not heading off in a burlap sack with a bit of Christmas wrapping as a sash. Alrighty then. Family wedding ahoy - let's go!

The Day Of The Wedding
This wedding trip means extensive travel. With all four family members. In a small car. Together. For hours. Good times, good times.

Nine Hours Before The Wedding
My mother and I have an argument about my hair.
Dad reminds us how expensive the hotel we will be staying in is.
We pass a truck labeled 'Frigmobile,' and the Boy Wonder and I crack up.
I announce that I'm hungry.
Dad: Did you have breakfast?
Me: ...
The Boy Wonder: Foolio.

Eight and a Half Hours Before The Wedding
Me: *looks at map* Oh my god, there's a place in Victoria called Lurg.

Eight and a Quarter Hours Before The Wedding
Me: And right near it, there's a place called Lurg Upper.
The Boy Wonder: *composes country song* Don't leave me in Lurg, Lareena/Don't leave me in Lurg, Lucille/You broke my heart, down by the marina/All because I tried to cop a feel.
Me: Nice work
TBW: I do my best.

Eight And a Half Hours Before the Wedding
Mum points out a place that does reenactments of Ned Kelly's last stand.
Dad reminds us how expensive the hotel we will be staying in is.

Eight Hours Before the Wedding
Signs for the town Yarrawonga inspire Dad to start his own resounding chorus of an actual Australia song that rhymes the name with, 'linger longer.' What a family.

Seven and a Half Hours Before
Signs to food up ahead.
Me: Sweet.
Dad: It's probably a grotty old roadside caravan.
*we drive past a grotty old roadside caravan selling hotdogs on sticks and chiko rolls*
Mum/Dad/TBW: *laughs*
Jelly's Stomach: *growls*

Seven Hours Before
There's also a plce on the map called, 'Howlong.' Now, that's just being silly.
We haven't spent this much time together as a family alone, in what feels like (and probably is) years. I have to admit, it is kind of fun.

Six and a Half Hours Before
TBW: I don't wanna sound like a little kid or anything, but - are we there yet?

Six Hours Before
Signs for Drage Airworld. Th Boy Wonder and I both express a desire to visit. We love planes. Sad, but true.

Five Hours Before
I stare glumly out the window. Seriously, have you seen how fucking dry and yellow and miserable our countryside is looking right now? It is not a pretty sight. We are not far off being completely fried to death.

Four Hours Before
We arrive. We bathe, dress and beautify. Mum and I have an argument about my hair. Dad reminds us all to make full use of the free shampoos, hairdryers, irons and television, because do we remember? The hotel, it is really expensive.

HEY ITS TOTALLY THE WEDDING NOW WOW!
The ceremony is beautiful. My cousin looks thrilled, very grown-up, handsome. His wife is gracious, graceful, a total fox. I nearly cry *wipes manly tear*

One Minute After The Wedding
And now is the time at the wedding when we drink.

Two Minutes After The Wedding
We survey the crowd. I seem to be the only girl present who has not made a bold foray into the world of the fake tan and blonde highlights. In my rockabilly dress and red shoes and big sunglasses and dark hair, I feel vaguely out of place.
TBW: Heh. You look kind of like early-era Winona Ryder has accidentally wandered into a Hilary Duff movie.
Me: Thanks a lot, pal. *glares*
TBW: Especially as you're so scowly.

15 Minutes After The Wedding
My LadyCousin wanders over. 'I've noticed there's an awful lot of tit on display here today,' she remarks. 'I think I even saw some nip.'

20 Minutes After The Wedding
Groomsman Cousin rubs his temples and remarks dejectedly he got stuck with the 'dud bridesmaid.'
TBW: It's not all bad. She's certainly got the twins out on display.
GC: Well, she has to emphasise her only good feature.

An Hour After The Wedding
Woo hoo! Weddings rock. Let's party! Where's my champagne? Oops, it's photo time! Try to remember to take sunnies off, smile at the nice people, hide your beer behind that bearded guy, what's his name, oh yeah, Dad. Hey, when does the dancing start, peoples, lets get this show on the road! Also, I'm hungry. Also, go Wolverines! *falls over*

An Hour And Ten Minutes After The Wedding
My brother and I lure my little kid cousins into misbehaving. We sneak back to the hotel and watch tv until the proper reception starts. We reflect on the curiously comforting nature of Simpsons re-runs. Itchy and Scratchy land! Bort nametags! Yee-ha! Hey, was I allowed to bring this champagne with me? Ah, no matter *drinks*

An Hour And Fifteen Minutes After The Wedding
*raids the snack bar*

An Hour And A Half After The Wedding
Dad tracks us down and orders us all back to the party. I nervously shove the snack bar wrappers under the bed.

Two Hours After
PARTAY TIME PEOPLE.
*eats*
*drinks*

Two and a Half Hours After
Speeches. Oh, God, it's all really emotional. Somehow, when very blokey men start going on in a heartfelt manner about how much everyone means to them, it is all so much more intense that when it is emo inner-city folk. Because they only say it when they really mean it. By the time step-children are thanking step-parents for raising them like their own kids, and parents are reflecting on kids they brought to Australia from overseas to give them a better life, I am slightly undone. Lady Cousin is also crying. As are all the bridesmaids. And Dad.

Three Hours After
My Aunt and Uncle carve up the damn dance floor. My uncle dances better than any farmer in the country, and possibly the world. He is as light and nimble on his feet as Gene Kelly. The Boy Wonder and I hit the dance floor too. So do Mum and Dad. And Lady Cousin, Groomsman Cousin, and everyone else. This. Goes. Off. The family that dances together stays together, I say.

Three and a Quarter Hours After
Some random song called 'Thank God I'm A Country Boy' comes on, and massive groups of men charge the dance floor and start dancing together in circles with their arms around each other. The bromance on display here, folks, is unparalleled. It's all so energised and full on that it's like we're suddenly in the barn-raising scene from 'Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.' The Boy Wonder attempts to leave the dance floor, only to be caught in an endless series of interlocking male arms, in the 'Swing your partner round and round!' manner, from which he remains unable to escape for several minutes. I can just make out his alarmed expression within the sea of madly bobbing heads. I'm not exactly sure what I'm witnessing, but as a form of culturally sanctioned male bonding/creative expression, IT IS FASCINATING.

Fours Hours After
One of the chief instigators of the aforementioned bromance attempts to breakdance and I nearly trip over his efforts at the turtle-style back spin. Perhaps I'll sit this one out.

Five Hours After
Cake. More declarations of love. The happy couple are affectionate and loving and beautiful the whole time. Meanwhile, not a person present has looked at me twice or even attempted to flirt with me. Clearly I am hideous to all of humankind and no one will ever love or marry me. *drinks* I grab a piece of cake and remember that old story that, if you sleep with it under your pillow you will dream of the person you are going to marry.

Five And A Half Hours After
Hit by uncontrollable wave of tiredness. Time to go back to the hotel and try not to be sick on anything expensive.

Five and Three Quarter Hours After
I throw up on my shoes and dress while doubled over in the car park. The Boy Wonder stands 50 metres away, killing himself with laughter.

Five and Seven Eighths Hours After
I shower fully clothed.

6 Hours After
*sleeps*

The Morning After The Wedding
I am woken very, very, very, very early - possibly as early as 10am - by the little cousins, who come galivanting into the room, desperate for me to play with them. 'Jelly, why is your hair all sticky-uppy like that? Hah, Jelly your eyes look all funny and puffy. Uh... Jelly, why is your dress on the floor in the shower?'

And Five Minutes After That
Dad comes running into the room, anxiously reminding me not to sleep through the breakfast buffet. There's a lot of food out there and we need to make the most of it because, in case I have forgotten, this hotel is really fucking expensive.

The Jelly Verdict
It is not hard to make an argument for the irrelevance of marriage these days. Plenty of the happiest couples I know are unmarried, plenty of others might never be allowed by our government to get married, and plenty of married people I know have relationships that are total crap. On the other hand, going to a good wedding is like being in a Broadway show - everyone has cool costumes and a few lines to say, then the band plays, someone sings a song, you swing your partner round and round, the softies in the audience cry.

And as for the wedding cake, who did I dream of? As I packed my bags, copped it from Dad about the snack bar purchases (oops) and we readied ourselves for the long journey home, I found my piece of cake. Half Squashed. Under the bed, with the wrappers from the snack bar. I forgot to put it under my pillow.

Well, fuck. Who believes in those stupid superstitions anyway.
















PS- Hello.