I attended the wedding of a long-time friend, Wild Fish (party girl with amazing alcohol tolerance, whom, by the way, I shall address as Ex-Wild Fish now) last weekend. Yes, I felt completely happy for Ex-Wild Fish and her husband, even got myself a bit misty-eyed witnessing the once tumultuous relationship entering a strange realm. However, from the moment I reached home, sentimental thoughts miraculously evaporated, I started picking the wedding apart, scrutinising it bit by bit and made a list of “What Not to Do at My Wedding”.
Every wedding is a lesson in progress. You could learn a range of things from what dress to wear to which bridal shop to avoid to which hotel offers the best banquet packages. At Ex-Wild Fish’s, I learnt to never allow Celine Dion to creep into my wedding song playlist.
Never.
While I’ve confirmed with The Girls (several of my closest girlfriends) that my fascination with planning my yet-to-happen wedding is absolutely normal, I can’t help but wonder whether men share the same fascination. As I stole glances at Man Child, in his chequered shirt and jeans that completely clashed with my green halter neck pixie dress, I felt the urge to ask him, “Do you like Celine Dion?”. Man Child, unaware of my battle, continued staring at his bowl of shark’s fin soup while everybody else was digging in. Him probably fighting another battle of his own.
Anyway, on one fine evening, I was watching the television, completely relaxed while sipping a glass of 100 Plus and Cointreau. My head was resting on Man Child’s shoulder and he was fiddling with his laptop. There were numerous windows on the screen with words and numbers that I couldn’t comprehend and wouldn’t want to comprehend anyway. Suddenly, he spoke.
“You know, die-die also cannot play Celine Dion at our wedding”.
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