Today is my 9th wedding anniversary and it's got me all wistful.
I felt a million dollars that day. I had a great dress, Jennifer Aniston would have died to have my hair, Mr Slimma didn't forget to turn up, my Dad actually danced to Prince and, miracle of miracles for Scotland, the sun shone all day so I was spared the fashion faux-pas of wearing wellies with my dress at our al fresco reception.
When friends talk about the day, there are always two other things that get a mention:
My new boss' stylish freeform dancing that led to a woman being carted away by the paramedics!
AND
The cake!
I was having none of that fruitcake nonsense. My cake (notice, it wasn't OUR cake!) was going to be a veritable orgy of chocolate and strawberries.
And it really was! It was so delicious in fact that the top layer actually got stolen, foiling my plan to gobble the rest of it for breakfast the next day. Never did find the culprit.
Anyway, looking back, perhaps my waistline was destined for disaster even then. Perhaps I should've incorporated an extra line into my vows. Maybe something along the lines of...
'I promise that you will not wake up one day to discover that your wife has been hijacked and replaced by a tellytubby.'
Hindsight, it's a wonderful thing!
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