My first wedding after my divorce
Tags: Romance, Divorce, Love, Love And Sex, Funny Story Of My Life

The first wedding I went to after my divorce….

The first wedding I went to after my divorce was actually a second wedding for the bride. She read vows from Alain de Boton’s book ‘The Course of Love.’

‘We have surveyed the routes of all happiness and unhappiness and we have chosen this one,” she announced. I loved the line: it made everyone instantly relax at a fraction of the cost of champagne. It was like finding a therapy stand in between the vol-au-vents and foie gras. They should have therapy stands at weddings: what could be more useful at an orgy of religion, family and alcohol? I know from my own wedding that seating arrangements are a game of chess that even the best masters would flunk. Long after you are divorced there will still be people who remember that you sat them at the back table with the children, the crap view and the schizophrenic relative.

The second wedding I went to was more traditional: great bouquets of flowers trailed down banisters into the dining room where there was a stage complete with projector for photos. I made friends with a woman on my table who was also divorced (lets call her Cat lady) and who was getting stuck into her champagne. She toasted no-one before the speeches or dinner had even begun. “Cheers, ‘ she said, then a moment later “Cheers” again. By the time I’d raised my glass she’d downed hers: there was no time for eye contact. When a photo slideshow started, Cat lady leaned over to me so her warm winey breath was in my face and she slurred:

“Pic-sures lie.”

I thought: “I’ve found a kindred spirit.” But my kindred spirit’s head was now nodding, she had the hiccups, except that each hiccup was extending into a retching noise. I watched her with the growing fascination you might watch someone fall asleep in the front row of a comedy show, and then she vomited into her napkin, out of her napkin, and vomit was rolling down the tablecloth onto the floor.

The table became a tsunami of married people’s pity: couples united with other couples to form an NGO of donated napkins. I accepted them gratefully as though in some small way I was Cat Lady’s spouse. Swiftly the vomit was covered. Cat Lady looked better for it, and proceeded to tuck in to her meal. I admired that, her ability to bounce back. She ate hungrily, almost like a real cat. She acted as though nothing had happened, but the stench hung thick in the air. In this respect she may not have been as eloquent as Alain de Boton, but I think in her own way she was making the same point.

As a single woman at weddings, I’ve realised, one tends to meet a few key players.

1) A female mentor. Older, slightly tipsy, with a face that has good lines at the eyes and the mouth. Some people want happiness, some people want peace, but what your female mentor will give you is honesty, and all in neat bullet points before she has to get home to the babysitter. On this occasion her name was Miranda. She was blonde and weathered,

“Where did you meet your other half?” I asked her.

“Oh basically we were shagging in the office,” she said. “When he proposed, I said to him: lets try it for ten years. I make sure to shag him every time he goes on a business trip for more than a week. Also: kids. Stop at one. One is still civilized. ”

2) The nice guy that I should have married. He was there being responsible, not mixing his drinks: during his contribution to the best man’s speech the room was amused but felt safe that nothing untoward was going to be said. He was mysterious, in the way that only a single guy in his mid 40s who has not formally come out can be. Translation: just not interested.

3) The horny married guy. “You’re beautiful,” he said, swiftly followed up with the add-on “Sorry did I say that out loud?” He proceeded to repeat this routine at various points on the evening, initially pretending to be a lot drunk than he was until life mimicked art. He had a trusty entourage of friends who were at hand to restrain him at various points. They looked genuinely worried, given the post-Harry Weinstein era that we live in. “Relax,” I reassured them, “normally I’d have to fly to Italy for this level of harassment. I’m not going to sue: trust me, if I want to go to court, I’ll phone the ex.” But I looked over at horny married guy’s wife and felt a pang as I remembered just how hard it is being married sometimes.

I bought the couple a card that said: “Keep calm and carry on” because marriage is not easy. But weddings are easy. Weddings are fun. I just hope I get better at them.