Sophie McBain thought she would have some bridezilla moments – turns out, her boyfriend has beaten her to it...
I had never imagined that I would turn into a bridezilla, but I had given even less time to the thought that David would turn into a groomzilla. And yet, I arrived home yesterday evening to find David hunched over his laptop, typing furiously.
“I’m just writing up an extra information sheet for our guests, to go with the invitations,” he said, barely looking up. “I’ve booked out 12 rooms at the Premier Inn for some guests, and compiled a list of other nearby hotels. Those invitations you proof-read last week will be arriving tomorrow. I just called up the Portaloo company. Oh, and we should also be hearing back from a couple of potential honeymoon people by tomorrow.”
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to feel like the CEO from a FTSE 100 company being briefed by the smoking hot secretary and secret lover. And then I just felt a bit guilty. I’m not pulling my weight.
In most respects, David and I conform scarily to conventional gender stereotypes. He loves watching sport on TV, but I only learned a few years ago what a try is in rugby, or that a cricket test match isn’t the same as a football friendly. He has little interest in clothes, while my mushrooming shoe and dress collection is colonising all of our storage space like a beautiful, multi-coloured fungus. In an ideal world, I’d drink nothing but champagne, he’d survive on real ale.
But if David were ever by nature a stereotypical slightly slovenly male, with a distinct lack of interest in housekeeping or wedding-planning, my huge failings in both areas have forced him to change his ways. I recently sat sheepishly listening to a couple of friends railing against their boyfriends’ habit of leaving wet towels on the bed, silently recalling the number of times David has emerged from our bedroom with a slightly pained expression and a damp towel in his hand. Every few weeks he forces me to open my post (left to my own devices, I prefer to avoid bills until a red envelope indicates I can delay action no longer) and to file away my unruly pile of papers. Every few days he lectures me about the trail of destruction I leave on arriving home – a coat thrown here, keys chucked there, shoes kicked off into the corner.
While I have preferred to adopt a slightly haphazard, ad hoc approach to wedding planning, punctuated by the odd wedding-related nightmare (I dreamed last week that I walked down the aisle in jeans by accident), David has quietly been drawing up spreadsheets. This weekend his spreadsheet told him that urgent action is required, and so once more, he’s stepped in. And when he puts his mind to a task, I know he’ll be unstoppable.
I’m pretty sure soon I’ll be sent officious-sounding emails with firm instructions and attached documents to sign off on, and will be subject to regular progress and performance related meetings. And I am immensely grateful. I am just the kind of girl who should be marrying a groomzilla.
To hear more about our blogger brides' wedding plans, read the Stylist Wedding Blog