Lining up for the 2011 spring wedding stakes
My men scrub up well. Last weekend we went along to the local gents outfitters where they understand us, so that Mark and his dad could be measured up for The Wedding.
You cannot fail to have noticed and have been impressed by the stoical forbearance I have so far shown in 2011 having managed, thus far, to have avoided talking about it.
Not that it hasn’t been bubbling under.
Now there is less than three months to go, I feel I can begin to unleash my inner, gibbering self. As Lewis Caroll might have put it:
“The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things
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Of ties, cravats and buttonholes; of collar size and rings...”
Yes, I know what you’re thinking. When is Lynne going to find her own uniquely beautiful wedding attire?
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Lynne is thinking the same thing. I’ve googled mother of the groom and I’m getting through the 1.43million websites, many of which want to sell me something strapless and shiny in kingfisher blue modelled by a size 10 woman in her 30s.
There are, however, more than 850,000 hits for grandmother of the groom I’ll get back to you when I’m closer to finding something.
Obviously, as a loyal subject, I’ll wait for the Queen (also grandmother of the groom) to choose first. I’m guessing Her Majesty won’t be going for something strapless either.
In the meantime, there is lots to do... er... well, I can’t actually think of anything at the moment but I am primed and ready for action.
For now, I’m happy if my husband and son have the right length trousers – even though it’s far more complicated than that.
Did you know you can get socks that bear the legend “father of the groom” and “usher” as well as “groom”, “best man” and “father of the bride.” They seem to have missed a trick though, I didn’t notice “vicar” or “organist”.
I’m not even sure my husband had new socks when we got married, way back in the days before weddings went large.
Mark and his dad, along with FoB, BM and ushers are all wearing tails, not, I hasten to add of the Basil Brush or demonic variety. They will be in tail coats.
My boys tried on all the gear. I am not allowed to divulge the exact details because Caitlin, the bride, in a reciprocal arrangement, is not allowed to know what Mark is wearing.
We have hinted that he looks almost as good in a sarong as David Beckham but I don’t think we persuaded her the men were going with an Hawaiian theme. Aloha.
When Mark emerged in his suit, I was a bit choked – no, I hadn’t swallowed a cufflink. He was so tall and good-looking and so grown up.
My heart went into mum overdrive. Inside, I was screaming: “No. You’re my little boy (he’s 27). You can’t get married, you’ve got to stay with me forever...”
Dignity, Lynne. I didn’t throw myself on the floor and cling to his ankle. In fact, if you’d been there... and practically every prospective groom in East Anglia was there... you would have thought I was dealing with it pretty well.
“You look absolutely great, Mark,” I said. “Really great. Great. Really, really...”
“Thanks, mum,” said my tall son and patted me on the head.
He and Caitlin have also been window shopping for wedding rings.
“I like palladium*,” Mark reported back.
“Darling, I think you’ll find that’s radioactive. You’ll go green.”
“That’s plutonium, mum. And it’s copper that makes you go green,”
I deferred to his superior knowledge. It’s good to know he’s finding a use for that chemistry A-level.
Mark’s dad appeared from his cubicle, thrilled to announce his trousers were too big round the waist. The patient lady with the tape measure disappeared once more into a backroom brimful of special occasion menswear.
Can there be any place on earth where more men are changing into morning dress than in a wedding hire department on a Saturday morning?
If anything can dispel the myth that men don’t like dressing up, then it is this. There are throngs of men in kilts, grey tails, black tails etc, lining up to look in the mirrors and, once there, you can tell they like what they’re seeing.
That slight body twist and the cheeky grin at the handsome hunk staring back at them; looking good.
If there was music, we would be talking catwalk.
With dad now in full wedding kit, father and son stand side by side looking drop-dead gorgeous.
And one of them is mine.
* Palladium is a chemical element with the chemical symbol Pd and an atomic number of 46. It is a rare and lustrous silvery-white metal that was discovered in 1803 by Norfolk chemist William Hyde Wollaston, who named it after Pallas, the asteroid (I think you can get some cream from Boots that’ll cure that).