Saturday, September 22, 2007

' The Wedding '

Yes. 'The Wedding' is on Monday. I havn't previously posted on this situation, because, to be honest, I thought I might have gotten the hell over it. Who was I kidding. Here's the gist of it...
My longtime partner, Chef, was invited to his "best friend's" wedding (the inverted comma's will make more sense in a mo) and I wasn't. Yep, read it and weep. I certainly did. Not only was it a massive slap in the face, it was Chef's complete misunderstanding of why I was upset. You see, I have known him now for 2 years, and minus a short break, we have been together nearly all of that time. We went out with these friends frequently - movies, coffee, clubs etc, and the girl and I even discussed our ideal wedding dresses together, and shared several alcoholic beverages. I don't just drink with any random people, ya know; I liked this girl. I thought it was mutual.

So I drew the conclusion Chef had bitched about me after an argument we'd had back in March. And so I guess they figured we were no longer dating. March. As in, 6 months ago. As in, he has not told his "best friend" for 6 months we have a new house together, have two canine children and several credit cards in a joint account.
So for some obtuse reason, he seemed to think this shouldn't/wouldn't bother me. Ah. Ha. Ha.
Yep. It does. I blatantly refused to go shopping with him for a suit (note: Wedding date: 27th. Shopping for suit date: 21st. Realizing he has no idea where wedding is/what time starts etc? Soon, I'm sure. Gotta admire a man's complete lack of organization) and he rather took offense to this. And I knew when he came home with an Arsenal cap & bracelet he'd racked up a massive credit card debt. I take a little consolation in the fact it is the most hideously colored 'salmon' business shirt I have seen, and completely inappropriate for a wedding. (Seah: Thank you for bringing me to this realization).

So, instead of sulking around the house banging doors and contemplating slashing his new suit pants, I am spending the day with one of my oldest friends, getting completely and utterly shit-facedly drunk, like the juvenille I am. Hell, if the only guy I know who can outdrink me can't make me happy with drinking games, nasty snack food and horrible chick flicks, I don't know what will.

And I know it's wrong of me to hope he misses the wedding altogether due to his horrible organizational/navigating skills, but I somehow cant stop secretly hoping he spills some form of beetroot juice or other irremoveable stain down his debt ridden shirt.

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