It's the Final Countdown...

It's been a bit quiet on the old blogging front at HexMyEx. That's simply because I have found myself in the unenviable position of juggling three full-time jobs recently: those of marketing manager, full-time mother (daughters #1 and #2 refusing to see their father) and housewife. I strongly object to being married to a house but it certainly feels like I am chained to the sink at present, so I definitely understand the expression.

I have only ever wanted a quiet life. My idea of larks is to jump out on Mr Parsnip when he is least expecting it and scare him witless...Indeed, I attempted to do this some months ago at our local cinema, by hiding behind a life-size cut-out of Jonny Depp as Sweeney Todd. After standing there, braced and ready to jump for about ten minutes, I pondered as to whether Mr P had fallen down the toilet, so long was he taking. I poked my head around Jonny's and, much to my chagrin, there he was on the other side, wondering where the hell I was. I had missed him leaving the gents' and my ruse fell flat on its face.

So, considering that I am now in my final week of being a single woman (the big day arrives this Saturday, 19th), I am now wondering what has happened to my sanity as daughter #1 screams that she is not coming to this 'flippin', God-forsaken wedding!'. This, dear reader, is because I dobbed her in it at High School. She has been taking £2 each day from me for lunch and then spending it on sweets. So I did what any normal, indignant, but sneaky, parent would do and reported her to her Year Head who is now going to monitor her every move in the dinner queue. The fact that she is being treated like 'a spaz' has left her mortified and hating me for the rest of my life. I can live with it. Really, I can...

The bridesmaids have been the bane of my life. They are daughters #1 and #2. Trying to find something that is both girly (#1) and tomboy-ish (#2) has been a task even Trinny and Susannah would find difficult. Therefore, they are both in cappuccino coloured (brown, for the plain speakers), simple dresses, but with a splash of beading and lattice work to appease #1's girly tendencies.

Despite ordering these dresses before Christmas last year, they only actually arrived in the shop six days ago. My hair has been turning greyer and greyer, I shake like I have the DTs, and I cannot sleep properly for envisaging #2 getting the hump and pitching up in combats and wellies. The seamstress at the bridal shop has a strong, drawling Scouse accent which has served to drive me up the wall: Don' worreeeee, Agnessssssssssssssssss. Ir'll all be all rice.

But #2 goes away for a week on Monday and won't be back till Friday. She doesn't have time for a fitting. What am I going to doooooo???

[It's at this point, that an observer would be reminded of Edvard Munch's The Scream]

Don' worreeeee, Agnessssssssssssssssss. Ir'll all be all rice.

It wasn't alright.

The girls went for their dress fittings on Saturday, and the supplier had sent the wrong sizes. #1 who is a slim 13 year old was fitted in a woman's size 16 which would have swamped me, and #2 who could hide behind a river reed comfortably was fitted in a woman's size 8, which might have just fitted me with a bit of shoe-horning. I was suitably distressed, turned a few shades of crimson, stuttered, came out of the changing rooms to find Mr P looking furtively at posh frocks and wailed. Mr P offered to go out and get some veg from the grocers if that would help...

In order to stop me from panicking about the girls' dresses, the seamstress, Julie, offered to let me try my hoop on. I'd also panicked about that as the last time I had tried one on, the Saturday girl gave me a size 20, so the only way I could walk in it was to spread my legs as far as they could go and take giant strides around the shop floor. I could really imagine arriving at the ceremony to the dulcit strings of Mozart, clomping like a fairy elephant...

This hoop fit me perfectly, thankfully, but it was as I was stepping out of it, still in my jeans and boots, that Julie ducked to her knees to assist me. She had just, at that point, told me not to 'worreeeee' again, and I kneed her in the forehead. It was an accident, really it was, but she was sent flying across the changing room and got up a bit shakily. I hope it served as a warning to her, despite it being accidental...

My work colleagues tell me I am exceptionally cool, calm and collected, considering I marry in four days time. I tell them I am an exterior Ice Maiden, but beneath this frosty surface, I am a nervous wreck. One colleague continually tries to take my mind off things by telling all and sundry that she marries in 87 days, has rubber Calla lillies in her bouquet, and the guests' favours are sample size perfumes she has extorted from one of the perfume suppliers. I ignore her, preferring to keep referring to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office website to see whether the terrorism in Sri Lanka (where we go for our honeymoon) has changed yet from being High Risk to Don't-Go-There-Whatever-You-Do...

It's also throwing it down in Sri Lanka: thunder and lightning storms. Semi-monsoon season.

Great...

Forecast here for Saturday is scattered showers, 7degC and a bit on the breezy side. So, I will certainly fulfil that old wedding rhyme of 'Something Old, Something New...' I'll be the 'blue' and Mr P is the 'Something Old'...He wasn't impressed when I jocularly quipped this to our travel agent, and asked for seperate seats on the plane from me.

Some people have no sense of humour...

So, next time I blog will no doubt be upon my return from Colombo. Unless the Tamil Tigers kidnap me and use me as their domestic for the next five years. I'd be good at that.

Goodbye for now. Next time we meet, I will be Mrs Mildew-Parsnip. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?