Go together like a car and pedals. (It’s not as catchy as a horse and carriage, but that’s quite an outdated simile. Whatever, I’m not a poet)

I’m at that age where a lot of my friends are getting married, or engaged, or having children. This year I saw two friends get engaged and two get married. Love is in the air! I’m mega happy for all of them, and wish them a lifetime of happiness.

Now. I am very single. I haven’t kissed anyone in about 6 weeks, and it’s a miracle if I get a text back. For someone in my situation where all your friends are happy and in love, and you’re not, it can be tough. But you know how I cope? I PLANNED MY OWN WEDDING.

Yes, that’s right. I could have gotten sad, and found myself at the bottom of a bottle, desperately texting my ex, claiming they were the one and we should give it another shot, or throw myself at any guy that looked at me and try and make them my boyfriend. But no. I didn’t go down that route (cough cough cough).  Instead, I started planning my own wedding. Getting inspiration from all my friends, I couldn’t help but wonder what mine would be like. Would I do this the same, what would I change here etc.

The chances of me getting married are extremely low, so let me share my plans here so you can see how off da chain it would be. And who knows, maybe you’ll want to marry me.

For the purpose of this exercise, I will be marrying Jon Bon Jovi.

We’re in a large mansion, somewhere in the countryside. Somewhere nice. All the guests are seated. They have received strict instructions to put their phones away, and a threatening message that anyone seen filming/taking pictures during the ceremony will be removed. And no, we’re not joking. JBJ is standing at the aisle, pacing nervously. He’s thinking, not only am I the sexiest man alive, but I’m also the luckiest. His groomsmen are calming his nerves, telling him how jealous they are that he gets to marry me. Suddenly, the lights go out. A voice booms out across the crowd:

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages. Mr and Mrs Alfereti proudly present to you, it’s the soon to be happiest woman in the woooorrrrrrrrrrld: the hot and young Judy Alfereti! All her stunning bridesmaids! The bridal wedding partaaaaaaaay!”

Boom. Lights go on. The opening  of Du Hast by Rammstein blares across the speakers. My bridesmaids make their way gracefully down the aisle. The crowd goes wild. The voice booms out again:

“Please be reminded that anyone taking pictures or filming on their phone will be removed from the ceremony. And no, we’re not joking. Now, put your hands together and make some noise for Judy Alfereti!”

Now, this is where the bride would usually walk down the aisle. But am I fuck walking down the aisle. Walking?! On my wedding day. Fuck off. Bitch, I’m getting carried. 

I enter the venue, sat upon a chair similar to this but more throne like. I have chosen 6-8 of my best male friends to carry my down the aisle. They are holding me at shoulder height. With one hand I wave gracefully to my budding congregation. With the other, I am holding an oversized fan and being ever so slightly dramatic. JBJ looks up at me. He has tears in his eyes. Yes, I really am that stunning.

We approach the aisle and I am lowered to the grown. I stretch out my arms and my escorts elegantly lift me out of the throne and stand me before JBJ. The crowd goes berserk. I hold a hand up for silence. I look JBJ in the eyes, and I grab the microphone:

“Let’s get married, bitch”

I drop the mic and the crowd erupts into applause. The ceremony begins.

The official goes through all the boring stuff, blah blah blah. Then we have our first reading. Except it’s not a reading. It’s my friend MC Hammersmith , the improvised rapper. He’s asking us questions about how we met/our first date/our first bang, then BOOM he does an improvised rap about it. It’s wonderful. I have a tear in my eye.

The ceremony continues. We’re almost married. We get to the part where someone can object. As the official is asking the question, my bridesmaids casually take out their axes from their bouquets, and make them glint in the light. No one objects. No one dares.

We exchange rings. I look JBJ square in the eyes and say I do. JBJ looks at me. I’m so beautiful, he chokes up and can barely get the words out. He collects himself and tells me “I do”. We’re married. He takes me in his arms, dips me low and snogs my face off. The pyrotechnics go off and there is a shitload of explosions. We’re married. We’re motherfucking married!

Cut to the dinner. We’ve served a five course meal and unlimited wine, beer and soft drinks. Everyone is merry. Everyone keeps talking about how beautiful I am and how lucky JBJ is. In the middle of the table is a score card. The guests are informed that there will be six speeches and to guess the total time. A prize will be given for the most accurate. The cards are collected, the speeches will be beginning shortly.

Cut to the speeches. There are going to be six. I know traditionally none of the women speak but if you think I am not going to be giving a speech at my wedding then you are clearly mistaken. Of course I’m giving a speech. I’m going first. The order of the speeches:

• The Bride
• The Groom
• Father of the Bride
• Mother of the Groom
• Maid of Honour
• Best Man.

My speech will include a powerpoint presentation, with a lot of graphs. There will be a lot of props, maybe an accent or two. It will last twenty minutes minimum. There might be a costume change.

Cut to the first dance. It’s our first dance. We dance to Closer by Nine Inch Nails.

 

It’s the most beautiful and majestic dance anyone has every seen. It puts Swan Lake to shame. The guest weep, literally weep. It’s so graceful, elegant and the whole time JBJ and I are gazing at each other with nothing but love and devotion in our eyes.

That’s as far as I’ve got with the plans to be honest. I’ve covered the important stuff, the showmanship element of it. After reading this, it’s even more doubtful that I will get married because if I can’t have this dream wedding then I am not getting married. I don’t care how perfect we are together, if I can’t have this, then I don’t want it.

I can’t wait for my friends’ weddings!