Ding Dong the Sun is going to Shine

When I think back to my wedding day I shudder. My mother had pulled me aside at the last-minute telling me that it would be OK to back out. I think this was after she met the future in-laws and their offspring who’d congregated in our house pre ceremony. Mum overheard them making snipes about the wedding arrangements and understandably was a little upset. What she didn’t know, and what I had no time to explain to her, was that my future husband’s family had inverted chips on their shoulders and a very wacky way of viewing the world. Despite being teachers and having the financial means to rear five, well-educated, bohemian children, they firmly believed they were working class. This, they felt, gave them the right to sneer at the middle class, which according to my soon to be husband, they had judged us to be. Ironically, my parents, who’d never had a formal education, were working class and had strived to provide their children with a better life. Funnily enough, if both families had got together they would have discovered that they had more in common than they thought ie both clans were against the union.

 I told my mother not to be silly, cut out his family and shepherded them into a room out-of-the-way, grabbed a bottle of Vodka and my best mate and fled upstairs to the bedroom.

 “It’s your responsibility to make sure I’m half cut when I walk down the aisle” I joked and downed a double “His family doesn’t think I’m good enough and sometimes I wonder if he thinks the same thing”.

“Are you sure you want to get married” my mate parroted my mother’s question.

“It’s a bit late now. I’m exchanging vows in 30 minutes” I raised my refilled glass “Ah well here’s to divorce”. I downed it in one.

 Last minute nerves soothed by alcohol, we headed for the church where I found the groom, in an act of rebellion, had decided to wear his work jacket complete with the tools of his trade (teacher/pens and pencils and, would you believe, a ruler) sticking out of the breast pocket. The best man mouthed apologies at me as I switched glances between him, the groom and the offending articles.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing that” I said as I stopped by the miscreant’s side and raised my hand to touch the writing implements. Chalk clouds puffed out of the jacket and suspended themselves in the still air above us as he tried to protect the articles from being removed.

“What?” said the groom in a pathetic attempt at innocence

“I tried to tell him” the best man said rolling his eyes skyward “but you know what he’s like.

The vicar coughed to get our attention “This is not the best time for an argument” he admonished indicating the 100 guests watching goggle eyed.

The rest of the day went without a hitch – well apart from the brother-in-law’s heroine addicted partner tripping out in the front seat of a van parked outside the church, my boss presenting me with some money and telling me to put it away without telling anybody just in case and the best man and me ending up with each other’s overnight bag – he definitely got the better deal.

As I said, I look back on my wedding day and shudder. Thank god for the divorce law, it was the best thing that ever happened to my marriage.


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