Tuesday, 5 January 2010

You say tomato, I say foie gras filo parcels with a pomegranate jus

Being engaged has taken my relationship with Pete to a new level. Never have we been so together and connected. Since the process of planning the wedding began we have felt inextricably bound, as though strapped to a runaway rollercoaster that screams relentlessly and inevitably through a terrifying endless void, having paid £15,000,000 to get into the theme park.

That's not to say there hasn't been the odd ruction, of course. Here are a few of the things we have argued about so far: Food. Drink. Vows. Music. Transport. Whether wearing a black suit, white shirt and thin black tie is indeed "cool", or in fact "Far too nineties. Who am I marrying, Mr f***ing Orange?"

Whether 36 sombreros is too many or not enough. Whether there should be a raffle. Whether we should buy a reasonable amount of alcohol or far too much, with a view to there being leftovers for after the wedding (thanks to Mr Miller for providing the argument-winning line, "It's not like you're buying bloody hummus.").

Whether the statement "I know this guy who's going to do the bar / flowers / photographs / DJing / food" should be taken literally, or whether the listener should psychically interpret it to actually mean, "I know this guy who once told me, in a pub, in 2006, while drunk, that his sister's workmate's cousin once worked in a bar / did work experience at a florists / has quite a good digital camera / knows how to work iTunes / tried to set up a catering business but failed."

Still. Dr Phil says, "If approached properly, arguing can actually help the relationship by instilling the sense of peace and trust that comes from knowing you can release feelings without being abandoned or humiliated," as I reminded Pete after I locked him out of the flat in his Speedos.

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