I had a dream last night that scared me to the depths of my very soul. It happened after I began to snooze whilst being forced, against my will, to watch YET ANOTHER episode of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. For those that have not experienced this particular form of sedative, My Big Fat etc. etc. is a television programme in which the boundaries of good taste are first explored and then forcefully invaded before being demolished completely and a pair of polka-dot knickers run up the flag-pole proudly in their place.
Now I’d like to make it clear that I have absolutely nothing against travellers. Though some of their ideas and customs may seem alien to me so does the idea of electing George Bush twice to office and I still have a lot of respect for Americans. However, wearing a bright pink wedding dress with a train longer than the 11:26 to Edinburgh and that lights up like a Christmas tree does seem, frankly, mental. Granted all eyes will indeed be on the bride, but only because they’re trying to figure out whether she is indeed hidden somewhere inside the moving mass of sequinned fabric floating down the aisle or whether, as seems more likely, this is in fact some form of genetically modified marshmallow with a penchant for weddings.
On the particular day in question Dom had gleefully been teasing me mercilessly about her dress for the wedding. The dress itself is top secret but she does enjoy nothing more than watching my expression change from intrigue to horror, usually as she taunts me over the potential price-range but occasionally she enjoys scaring me over the style of the dress itself. “It’s not really very orthodox” she’ll say, or “there’s no chance you’re going to be able to picture what it looks like!” Now I trust my future wife implicitly but WHAT DOES SHE MEAN??!!!!
Anyway, as yet another cake-maker put the finishing touches on a 30ft high Barbie and Ken Cinderella’s castle cake I lost the will to live but, upon reflection, chose sleep as an acceptable alternative to death. However my brain had decided not to let me off the hook quite that easily. As I began my gentle slumber I began to think more about what Dom’s dress might look like: first the Kate Middleton style, classic and elegant, then the more vintage styling I had seen in so many recent photographs, or perhaps something more contemporary, more informal…yeah, that seemed more like Dom! And then it happened. As within my dream state I continued to watch the TV I saw the Bride reach the head of the aisle, her exhausted Bridesmaids throw down the end of the dress and her father struggle to remove her diamante ladened veil before turning round lovingly to face…ME!
From the weird candy-floss sculpture before me poked the overly fake-tanned almost mahogany face just recognisable as my own Dominique, and as I looked at her, she pressed hard upon a button secreted in her tiara and automated wings began to flutter happily on her back. As I looked her up and down I realised that despite the 30mile train she in fact wore a mini-skirt, as well as heels taller than your average stilts. As I looked pleadingly around the room however I realised that Dom had no cause for embarrassment.
The Bridesmaids wore an almost fluorescent pink meringue, the female guests either scantily clad or wearing outrageous outfits that strangely enough looked like Pineapples. Tacky fake flowers covered every inch of the room and the registrar appeared to be offering forth a ring with a diamond bigger than my head on it. Everything was completely over the top and as far as could be from the relaxed, tasteful wedding I had imagined.
Suddenly everything shifted around me and we were at the reception, surrounded by hideous décor, multicoloured fairy-lights and people bumping and grinding on the dancefloor like it’s 3am on singles night at the local £1 entry night-club. All of a sudden the dancing stopped and the room fell silent as all faces turned towards me; apparently it was time for me to deliver my speech! As my fear of public speaking began to suffocate me in my sleep I tried to think of the tips I had received. Sadly imagining them all in their underwear was proving ineffectual as that was practically what they were wearing already. Indeed it became particularly unhelpful when I came to the realisation that I actually had more to worry about than they did as I was, in a scene reminiscent from childhood school nightmares, completely stark naked! Fortunately for me it was this point where I let out a loud scream that awoke me from my slumber (as well as causing everyone in the room to turn swiftly to face me!)
Upon awakening and being provided a soothing cup of tea my nerves began to relax a little. ‘It was just a dream’ I told myself. ‘Admittedly a dream that Freud may have interesting interpretations of but just a dream nonetheless.’ I mean Dom’s got good taste and loads of wedding experience, there’s no way she would have a wedding like that was there! Just as I pondered this thought the programme ended and Dom spoke up:
“Matt, I’ve had a great idea for the wedding”
“An idea you got whilst watching that programme?”
“Yeah, why?”
BE AFRAID…BE VERY AFRAID!
