There
are moments in life that can be planned for and colour-coded. Others seem to
fall into place as if by magic.
Our
Big Day had begun with MBH (my better-half) and I feverishly working our way
through a meticulously-organised “to do” list on a spreadsheet that my partner,
a product manager, had spent ages colour-coding: morning tail suits…
check, rings… check, speeches… check, plenty of alcohol at hand… check, spray
tan… check. Well, you didn’t expect us to walk down the aisle as pale as
Madonna, did you?
The
seating arrangements had changed more times than a game of musical chairs and
the chart was beginning to resemble a Quentin Tarantino script with Mr. Blue
sitting next to Mr. White across from Mr. Orange. Everyone was accounted for
thanks to MBH’s Excel rainbow creation.
Our
bridesmaids looked amazing in their long, flowing red 1940s dresses with
vintage hairdos styled with enough hairspray to withstand a tornado. “Don’t get
too close to anyone holding a ciggie,” warned our hairdresser, Wade. The
thought of two human candles bolting for the loo to extinguish their heads in a
toilet bowl wasn’t a party trick I’d thought of adding to our colourful
spreadsheet. Besides, third degree burns and bandages wouldn’t mesh with the
bridesmaids’ dresses and could upset young children attending the wedding.
As
the stretch limo arrived to pick up the bridal party, we all piled into the vehicle
with the help of a shoehorn and some lubricant. The interior was not only designed
to accommodate midgets, it also sported a protruding bump covering the axel that
had to be climbed over to reach the back seats. This wasn’t as much of a
problem on the way in as it was on exiting the limousine. Captured for posterity
is a shot of me falling head first out of the vehicle on arrival at our first stop,
the location of our photo shoot, and I’d only had one glass of champagne by
then.
We
had opted to do all the wedding photography before our ceremony so that guests could
make their way from the service to the reception without any delays. Our
hyperactive photographer, who also suffers from attention deficit disorder and
possibly even Tourette syndrome, was meeting us at Yurulbin Park, a scenic spot
in Balmain with an almost 360-degree view on the harbour, the bridge and the city.
He showed up decked out in several cameras outfitted with lenses big enough to
put any paparazzi to shame.
Herding
us to the waterfront, he began snapping away while keeping us and passers-by,
including some puzzled-looking fishermen, entertained with a non-stop flow of instructions
flavoured with a fake French accent.
“Closer
togezer. Oui, oui. Don’t look at ze camera. Now kissy, kissy, kissy. L’amour,
l’amour. Step backward but not too mush becoz you will fall in ze harbour!”
In
a blink of an eye, our frenzied photographer had captured every possible pose,
angle and composition. We headed back to the limo with our lips slightly
chapped, happy to get out of the hot sun and looking forward to the next and
final destination, Araluen, the venue of our commitment ceremony.
MBH
and I had expected a dozen singers at our ceremony and were delighted when over
forty members of the Sydney Gay & Lesbian Choir turned up and lined the
back of the quaint, non-denominational chapel where the service was taking
place. As part of the ceremony and to surprise my partner, I had pre-recorded
my singing of Peter Allen’s “I Honestly Love You” and had the choir perform the
backing vocals. The combination of setting, choir, and having the man I love by
my side, exceeded the magic I had hoped for.
What
I hadn’t anticipated was the reaction of the crowd. Those who know or work with
MBH, the man who is always prepared and not a fan of surprises, took great
pleasure in seeing the look on his face when the non-colour coded moment was
sprung on him. Some things in life require planning and preparation. Others are
best left to fate. There isn’t a spreadsheet out there that could have made
this moment any more special.
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