Never in my life did I think I would ever be asked to be the Maid of honour at anyone’s wedding. It’s not something that has ever crossed my mind. Mainly because I am a twenty-something-year-old woman with the mentality of a six-year-old, but also…I just don’t think I’m maid for that life…(See what I did there?)
All hilariously clever puns aside, I am more of a ‘go to the party, get drunk and insult the bride’ kinda person. You know; the one you don’t put on loudspeaker because you are afraid of what I may say and the one that you hide the whisky from cause you don’t want a reenactment of the alamo on your very special day.
So when my brother’s girlfriend asked me to be the maid of honour at her wedding…I couldn’t help but feel guilty about the things I had yet to do.
One thing you need to know about me… I am not an organized person and being Maid of Honour requires a certain level of maturity, organization skills and the ability to remember the actual date of the wedding.
Now, of course, I made a list of the duties I was expected to take on, but due to my lack of filing skills, it got lost amongst the other lists, notes and doodles I have made over the past year. Mountains of crumpled paper sitting discarded in a drawer, or under the bed and even pieces of paper that made their way into the kitchen cupboard.
This job also requires one to have a certain amount of class and etiquette. Those who know me would be able to tell you, I have the class of a 14th-century fish wife and the etiquette of an inebriated squirrel.
And despite being female, I have absolutely no idea what females like or want.
So, tasked with the massive job of entertaining 5 very female, females (should totally be the name of a sitcom) I set out to throw the hen party of the century. Hangover movie style!
Alas, it was not to be. I regret to inform you that we did not wake up horribly hungover in a trashed £4000 hotel suite. There were no angry tigers in the bathroom, no missing teeth and we definitely did not steal a strippers baby.
However, we did have a reservation at a Mexican restaurant disguised as a peep show. A reservation we missed due to London trains (fucking TFL.)
So off we ventured on the adventure of a lifetime! Dodging the traffic as we crossed a maze of roads filled with people who don’t know how to fucking drive. Undertook the risky and daring shortcuts through the back alleys of Soho. Almost froze to death as we searched for a place to fill our bellies and then….then we saw it.
Bright lights and golden arches. A magical place that would feed us…when no one else would.
All I can say is… Thank god for McDonald’s.
With bellies filled, chicken nuggets devoured and special sauce stains on our dresses. We pressed on. To the final destination. A bar made entirely of ice!
With ice glasses filled with ice-cold drinks, we drank and drank until we could drink no more!
The night was a success and as we stumbled home to our premier inn with a bottle of prosecco in one hand and our vision slightly distorted from copious amounts of alcohol, I learned one important lesson.
All major events that you are put in charge of, can instantly be made 70% more successful if you just add alcohol.
Now back at the fancy budget hotel, we filled our glasses with yet more bubbling liquid, stuffed our faces with the finest potato chips and giggled at everything and nothing at the same time.
The night was a relative success and with heads now laying on the softest of pillows, thoughts of the day to come swam in our heads and greeted us in our dreams like a pervert down a dark ally.
The wedding was near.