Honeymoon baby! The new husband has treated me to five luxuriant days in the fairest Cape. Nothing less than five star hotels, lavish meals, on tap masseuses, spa visits, a not small amount of time spent indoors to consummate, and the kind of love that is blind.
For this I have absolute irrefutable proof.
Leaving the hotel one day to take a relaxing walk on the beach, my hand tightly held in his (partial proof) hubby suggested, “We should take pictures of our honeymoon and add them to the wedding album.”
“I think not” was my measured (sensitive) response as robust images of Cinderella’s ugly sisters came to mind with no glass slipper coming forth to a)fit and b) be suitable for a walk along the beach.
Within the space of a week I was able to pull off the persona of both Cinderella and at least one of her demonised sisters.
Cinderella showed up at the wedding, well and good: hair blow waved and gelled; clipped and combed in a way that had it behaving late into the night.
My make-up, professionally applied at a cost of R2000, held despite a rather disproportionate blub, when my husband (still to-be at that stage) saw me as ‘bride’ for the first time.
My dress was perfect, my shoes elegant, nails painted, I was a princess.
But the transformation into ugly sister was inevitable when the Cape Town climate and my back-to-nature hair came together with the wind and sea air that the city is known for.
With only a lick of mascara, my hair as curly and wild as the cattle Billy Crystal had to herd from one side of Colorado to the other in City Slickers, 1991 – and dressing down to shorts and a sleeveless top over sickeningly pale skin, there is no way that pictures are being taken, let alone being pasted alongside gorgeous portraits of the blushing bride.
Thus the only honeymoon pictures I have are mental ones which will remain pure if vague for eternity.
The fact that hubby thought me picture-worthy in my au-naturel state is proof, beyond reasonable doubt that love is blind.