Final days

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The dressmaker wants to make a few teeny-tiny final adjustments to the dress, and so I’m picking it up on Thursday. I hope she’s properly grateful that I’m not too neurotic, and am therefore not pitching a fit about picking up the dress two days before the wedding.

Although her perpetual vagueness has annoyed me no end during the dress production process, I’m so pleased with the final product that all is forgiven. That frivolous train buttons up into the skirt so that I can dance - the best of both worlds.

Work is slowly winding up, and I can’t wait to get out of here on Wednesday and devote myself to the state of being-on-holidays. Great hordes of family members are beginning to descend on the city for what I will modestly label the social event of the year, and I am eager to see them all, but particularly the babies with their little chubbsy cheeks. I won’t apologise for my favouritism, older relatives. If you look cute while dribbling and making indistinct noises, you get big points in my book. And as The Bride, I will be demanding premium cuddling time with all chubbsy babies in the vicinity, white stainable dress and all.

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