I think I might be married.
I am unsure whether a wedding ceremony is legally binding when conducted by a bloke whose sister works at a registrar’s office.
The gentleman officiating at my wedding, (Stevie-Boy), said that Becks, (the-filing-clerk-sister) had passed on all the relevant info regarding the current legislation, and correct wording of the civil marriage ceremony. Thus imparted, because she lives just round the corner from him and his Mum, and brings her kid, Damo, round for dinner most nights.
Or as he put it “Chill out sweet cheeks. It’s sorted”.
I met my husband at a town centre pub having spent two and a half hours drinking Appletini’s (not my idea btw) and with Friend-Karen nudging me every time a guy walked by that, based presumably on the fact that he had learned to walk vertically and wasn’t dribbling, would be perfect for me.
I have always had the idea that I present a fairly cheerful countenance to the world, but after several groups of potential prospects had looked intent on advancing in our direction and then at the last minute changed their minds, Friend-Karen told me it was a complete waste of time if I was going to keep glaring at everyone who came near me.
Friend-Karen accused me of looking as though I had an ice-pick in my handbag and a rather extensive collection of pickled-brains indoors.
Chortling at this ridiculous suggestion, I decided to demonstrate my quite substantial come-hither-iness.
I had noticed out of the corner of my eye that a guy in a blue shirt had been repeatedly casting furtive glances at me so I took a delicate sip of my drink, a deep breath and turned my 300 watt smile in his direction.
He cried out in what I must agree, did sound very much like fear, and fell backwards across a table.
Feeling so badly about causing him such a fright earlier in the evening, I felt it only cricket that I should agree to his slurred suggestion that we become man and wife together. So with Friend-Karen acting as a dandelion clutching, bridesmaid, under the light of the silvery-moon, in the car-park of the Kings Head, I became Mrs……………………………..I want to say Northwood.
I’ll need to check my beer-mat wedding certificate and come back to you.