Face time: All in a day’s work for the bride to be …

With just two weeks left, the time was right or dam nigh essential to begin beauty treatments. After a not-so-relaxing massage, the next item on the agenda was my face.

“Four facial, R500 ($35) before your vedding,” the Jordanian women implored me.

“Four facial,  R500.”

I did not know R500 was the tipping point in small business but she was certainly fixated on it. But instead of committing to four I thought I would try her out for one, at the premium cost of R150 ($10.50).

“I sat in her ‘salon’ with all my naked-faced glory exposed to a stream of Arabic-speaking visitors who were there to make deals of one sort or another.

Business as usual

But no matter, she threw a black cloth over my face while the steam rose in my direction. (I’d already insisted she clean the steamer before she even dare turn it towards me).

Then the massage began and she pummelled my face with all the force of an angry biscuit maker – and I knew a four-course facial was out of the question. But to cover all bases she offered to sell me two products for the magical R500.  I said I didn’t think so.

And the pressure of pummelling intensified until I was left screaming, “not my eyes, please.” With her assurance of soft beautiful skin suspended in disbelief, I was ready to walk out. But the amount of stuff on my face literally weighed me down.  Among the things layering my skin was breakfast oats which she assured was “all natural”.

I eventually made my escape after her final plea to see her on Tuesdays and Thursdays for the next two weeks for “four facial,  R500.”

That’s one bulk deal I ‘ll  have to avoid and henceforth trust my beauty to chance and eight glasses of water a day.

Dress distress

Saying ‘I do’ to that life changing experience

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Relationship building at its best: compromise is key

 

If you can survive planning a wedding, your marriage has every chance of success. More than anything a wedding is about relationships, but the one that brought you to a desire for marital status, is the one that is threatened the most.

It’s required to have relationships, with the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker. Not quite, but in this case: the hairdresser, the make-up artist and the dressmaker – all underpinned (pardon the pun) by money.

Even if the relationships existed before and mostly they did not, they take on a new intimacy. And relationship building takes on a new art form, while the bond with my husband to be, starts to fall apart at the seams.

A bit like my dress, which I had to resurrect with an all-new dressmaker as the befallen was not about to rise any time soon.

While he tries to deal with the stress by making light of all the glitches in the party plan, I have completely lost my sense of humour. We have to speak at least three times a day, first to exchange the bad news, and then two more times to attempt to normalise.

If the second conversation doesn’t take, then the third verbal encounter must.  I have threatened pre-marital divorce as the first to go down in history, while he continues to beg for calm and reason. Then I find out that he accepts the blame for holding up the process and has the nerve to ask, “Do you still want to get married?”

The question hangs heavy on my heart and that day I hold out for conversation three to say, “I booked tickets for the rugby at Montecasino,” and hope that affirms my response. When calm and reason become scarce, compromise is the only saving grace.

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Drinks provided, bring your own food

 

A bring and braai is one of the best social concepts of the modern era. Why can’t I apply it to my wedding? This would accommodate all tastes, from kosher to lactose-, wheat- and gluten-intolerant, halal and vegan, all of whom are among the invited guests.

Unfortunately kosher has to set the tone because of one small detail – the ceremony is taking place at a shul. A shul that requires the strictest adherence to ‘kosher’ as laid down by the Beth Din. This pain-in-the-a..e organisation – the same one that wanted us to dig up original birth certificates to prove our heritage – has literally brought us to our knees. And it is our caterer who has to do the begging and pleading.

With the countdown having reached the official 30 days yesterday, this has been the most stressful week. We nearly had the rug pulled out from under us with the caterer reporting that the shul would not allow her to provide the food for our function.

Because she does not prepare food on the premises she found a loophole to avoid paying the Beth Din its exorbitant fee to send an inspector to place his fat-fingered stamp of approval on the condition of the kitchen.

She had been able to get away with this logic for years but not for our wedding? Where is the Man upstairs when it comes to emergencies? You would think He would have blessed our union ahead of time so that we could actually arrive intact at our traditional Jewish wedding without too much fuss.

Panicked thoughts had us cancelling the caterer, reshuffling the shul and in the worst case scenario, converting to Christianity.  We could have a lovely garden party, lay on the drinks and ask each guest to bring a plate of snacks. Why not?

Saying ‘I do’ to that life changing experience

Saying ‘I do’ to that life changing experience

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Saying ‘I do’ to that life changing experience

In a rare moment of insecurity I asked him  how I would be able to compete.  Of course he said I had already won the contest hands down – and with that a flood of tears proceeded and messed my mascara. As he stroked my hair and dabbed at my cheeks, in my mind I said, ‘I do’.

But then, in the weeks to come, the cold feet took hold like dead-weights.

Every bride-to-be must have them at least once in the run up to the wedding. That’s what the engagement period is for. It’s a time to reflect and embrace one’s loss of reason in exchange for the insane idea of tying oneself to another being for life.

I never believed I was a commitment phobe, but as the day draws nearer, the fear grows deeper and I have to follow blind faith that love will conquer all. That being said, the appointment with the lawyer to write up the anti-nuptial contract is on the list of things still to do.

I will have to share my living space with 10 other dogs and that does not include my wolverine husband to be. And that’s just the beginning of a long list of compromises.

Apart from the dogs which he breeds and shows (20 years), The Husband has several other hobbies among them photography (30 years), watching sport and an unbreakable cards night with the boys that has a 17-year history.

So what was that rush of blood to the head that made me agree to marriage and end too many years of self-indulgent independence?

 

 

Wedding guest list: Your company is requested, or not

 

So much for the invitations being printed last week.  When I finally chose a colour it turned out to be impossible to match (forget envelopes to go) and for want of no better cliché available, it’s back to the drawing board we go.

 

Assuming the invitations were printed the next dilemma is who to invite and the method of delivery.

For simplicity sake, I have divided people into three categories – life-long friends (Friends) Family and Fly-by-nighters, collectively known as FFF.

Family is easy – this includes immediate members and varieties extended through marriage, and first cousins. This is on the obligatory section of the list and is not necessarily based on quality of the relationship.

Friends comprise a small section of the list (my list) and have proven their worthiness over time if not ‘life’.

But it’s the Fly-by-nighters who are the most difficult to include or exclude as the case may me and constantly have me in turmoil.  These are the people I work with (many of whom last no longer than a month in the organisation so are indeed F-B-N,) and some who I have grown fond of in a relatively short space of time. Then there are others who are thought to be strategically valuable. But my dilemma is that I don’t feel right inviting some and not others. So it seems best to invite no-one.

www.wed.co.za

Tricky though – and I may live to regret it.  What’s more, delivery would be a piece of cake. Tradition has it that wedding invitations are hand-delivered but with the vastness of Johannesburg, and the current petrol crisis this is not going to happen. Those close to our respective homes will be lucky to receive personal delivery, and for those further flung we will just have to risk postal services.

The wedding invitation

 

 

 

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The wedding invitation

It was an opportunity to rejoice the technology of the 21^st century. I was thrilled at the prospect of sending our wedding invitations via email. This would level the playing fields for those near and those far as all recipients would receive an informative electronic invite. Efficient, I thought, and cost effective too.

 But it was not to be. When Mother of the Bride heard about this she put her foot down. 21^st century-hubby-to-be who literally could not wait for the release of the next iphone, was surprisingly emphatic about it too. “We’ve got to have hard copy invitations,” he said. Am I the only one remembering the budget here?

I was determined to find a low cost printer who would do the job at a reasonable price. When he quoted design and printing plus envelope for just R350 ($23) I was ready to give the go ahead.  I chose the colour of the board – a turquoise – which the printer said did not come with matching envelopes but that I would likely find them at a stationery shop.

 

 

After trawling Joburg’s high streets, shopping centres and boulevards in search of matching envelopes for half a day without success, I had to rethink my plan.  I stumbled on silver envelopes and decided they would just have to do. That they cost almost as much as the entire print job is another matter.

Then the question of the text. Do we go with ‘We request the pleasure of your company or the honour of your company? Are you joining us for our wedding ceremony or to celebrate our marriage?’ Does the day come first or the time?

I finally mustered together something simple, but to tell you the truth, the guest list is so small nobody really needs an invitation.

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What’s your colour? Wedding retinue simplified

My sister in Melbourne, who tries to epitomise organised and sometimes does a fair job of it, sent me an email inquiring about the colour for the retinue. Although the big day is still three months away, she wants to start shopping and blend in with the hue of the day.

 My colour is white. White dress, white veil, white nails, white legs and, of course, my white knight. I have taken a diversion with my shoes which are silver to pick up the glint of the diamante in the earrings, but the rest is white, and my skin particularly, which will remain so unless I find a make-up artist.

 Yesterday I went shopping for the bridal materials – hiring is out – and I’m delighted with my purchases as they help me to see my dress taking shape – well sort of. I have metres of gorgeous white chiffon, soft white satin and pretty white lace all waiting to be crafted into the piece de resistance.

THE DRESS: Dressmaker, dressmaker make me a fit

 When I phoned the factory outlet to inquire about the varieties of lace, the receptionist told me there were many. When I arrived there with my other sister, I discovered that if many meant 80, 78 of them were for curtains so the choice was severely narrowed down. I’m not averse to bad taste parties but I don’t have to be the one to get the award for the best-dressed in bad taste apparel on my wedding day.

 Left to decide between two patterns I couldn’t um and ah for too long. Nonetheless, I left the fabric shop satisfied that I had what I needed and at a fair price too.

 So sister – you can wear any colour you like – as long as it’s not white.