I am oh, but so out of control!
Last night I left my bag at work. I have never been so loskop. This marriage thing must be playing with my mind (read, fu##ing with my brain).
I would not call myself a total control freak but I do like to be semi-in control most of the time so to have my ordered self stripped right out from under me has its own surprises.
I had the runs for a week and I don’t mean in my pantyhose which I’m wearing in duplicate to fend off the cold. Trips to the loo are not the most pleasant or productive way to spend time especially when there’s a wedding to plan.
This week we had the gross displeasure of meeting with the Jewish Marriage Registration Office (Beth Din) where they demanded nothing short of a kidney as proof of our Judaic authenticity.
Records of parents’ marriage certificates from the arc and dredging up original unabridged birth certificates were all par for the course. With an upfront fee of R2500 ($170) for this dubious honour, I hope the course is lined with lush pink roses among the thorny obligations of marriage preparation lessons, among other things.
This is the way of orthodox nuptials despite my being a mildly observant Jewish lass to whom the prospect of having the legal commitment officiated in the Magistrate’s Court is starting to appeal.
That said, we have just about wrapped up the caterer and the venue so things are taking shape. I have also engaged a dress maker who won’t be costing the earth, and since I have partly designed the ‘gown’ myself I should be able to live with it.
Now I just need to recover from the photographer’s quote which felt like a smack in the solar plexus (the chakra for power and will, ironically). All in all, my stomach is not handling this well.