You know you are old when you attend the wedding of your page boy *gulp*
But there you have it, I have sun spots on my hands, my lipstick is running into the cracks on my lips, and it won’t be long before I start tucking a hankie into my bra. I’m just that old.
So off I went to enjoy the celebration of this child turned man and his delightful wife. They live in Adelaide, which is the planet I originate from, the land of stobie poles, Fruchocs and malls balls.
I arrive filled with joy as I watch a beautiful couple commit themselves in holy matrimony.
It was a glorious ceremony, followed by a fun filled reception! As is tradition, as the bride and groom were leaving the reception all the guests lined up facing each other, with hands raised we formed a tunnel for the lovely couple to leave through. I was near the end of said tunnel and because the couple were ridiculously friendly and popular the journey through our tunnel of love took some time. My old bingo wing arms were failing and so the tunnel, to be honest, lost some of its majesty.
It’s here that I need to confess that I’m not much of a social kisser. I know, you were wondering, I thought it important to inform you. You’d think that being a hair stylist I would be all over the air kiss, but alas, I hate it.
As our lacklustre love tunnel lost more of its height the newlyweds were forced to crouch down and pretty much back their way out.
I’m not sure if it was my nerves about the impeding social kiss, or the 2 lemon lime and bitters I had, but when the groom was finally in view I decided the most sensible course of action was, clearly, to reach out and pinch him on the bottom.
I reached forward, with slightly too much gusto, and instead of intended pinch, my advancement swiftly became what could best be described as a poke up the butt hole.
I quickly retreated and spun around to see a group of guests suitably aghast at my behaviour!
*feeling frightfully foolish*
Keeping in mind that I was a visitor to the state, I sought what little comfort I could in the thought that I would be leaving the state the next day.
I then uttered the most coined phrase of my life “how embarrassing”.
(Just ask my husband, if this is quite possibly maybe ok yes it was what I muttered in response to his marriage proposal)
I then raised my bingo wings including my now tarnished finger towards the heavens in the hope that the tunnel of love would consume me, and as said poked bottom backed passed me I looked further into the tunnel and saw the groom.
And then the realisation hit me.
I hadn’t poked the groom up the butt hole…
I had poked the photographer…
Swallow me up now.