I’m marrying him.
|Relax girls, he’s (nearly) married.|
I promise not to become a Bridezilla:
(But I can’t promise not to become a Bridezuki over the next few months – sorry. Although, in all honesty, I’ll probably be more of a bridal Scrappy Doo in any case, short and annoying. My usual self, in fact)
Like any self-respecting beauty blogger my first worries are: perfume, makeup artist (I refuse, point blank, to do it myself), hairdresser, and, of course, which pair of Uggs to wear for the ceremony.
Have we set a date? No, but it’ll be next spring, somewhere quirky, hopefully. Oh, and I’m looking for some small independent artisan jewellers to support with our purchases of rings and so on, so if you have any handy hints or recommendations, then please leave them in the comments!
There will be no meringues, no churches, and – most importantly – nowhere that doesn’t serve chicken wings. There is, I must admit, a slightly better than good chance we’ll be married in the local branch of KFC.
I have, it has to be said, NO IDEA where to start.
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