November 16th, 1990

November 16th, 1990

At home, England

If I had a pound for every time Sarah used the word, “wedding,” tonight, I’d be a wealthy lass!

We arranged to meet at six at The Barn in Central Milton Keynes, after Sarah finished work. Even on the phone, I could tell she was bursting to tell me something. No sooner had we taken our seats by the roaring fire and ordered drinks and a couple of starters, when she shrieked; “I have a wedding date!”

“Yay! When?”

Sarah proceeded to share not only the date (next summer) but every other detail of what promises to be an outstanding day. Her description of “the bridesmaid dress,” she already picked out doesn’t sound like my cup of tea, but when, in the history of the world has any bridesmaid ever worn a dress she actually liked?

“So,” she said, finally taking a breath. “Are you excited?”

“Very,” I smiled. “This is great news.”

“I’m not talking about my wedding, I’m asking if you’re excited about your wedding.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Don’t you think you’ll get married next year?”

“I’m not even engaged!”

“Yet!” she exclaimed.

I shook my head dismissively.

“Christmas is just around the corner,” she sang, flashing her engagement ring.

“You should meet Lorna,” I laughed. “She’s as keen to marry me off as you are.”

“Isn’t she getting married next year?”

“Yeah, next March, in Bermuda. David has already agreed to go with me.”

“Ooooohhhh,” she cooed in such a way as to make the girl sitting next to us flash an approving smile.

I’m surrounded, I thought.

“Well make sure you tell David I want him at my wedding. But don’t tell him anything about what you’re wearing, I want that to be a surprise.”

“Oh, ok,” I uttered.

 

Two weddings.

Two outfits.

Two countries.

One guy.

 

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