I SWORE when we started this wedding malarkey that I wouldn’t turn into a bridezilla.

Things don’t have to be perfect, all the time.

I don’t need the ‘best’ of everything. Sure I want it to be nice, but it doesn’t have to be the best, or the most expensive, all the time.

I don’t care if my sister, my maid of honour, is pregnant on the wedding day, dyes her hair, gets a tattoo or wants to sit with her husband instead of at the top table – once she’s there, that’s all that matters.

I don’t need a videographer who jumps out of a helicopter with his camera strapped to his back to get the ‘perfect’ group shot which he then transfers to a solid gold Blue-Ray disc – a regular video guy who will tell the story of our day beautifully with no tricks is good enough for us.

I don’t need Bono and the lads – a fun, lively wedding band will do the job nicely and that’s just what we got.

A three tier cake is just right, I have no wish for any more, it was tasted and picked within minutes.

Make-up my sister will provide, she’s a dab hand at it and will do an excellent job and as for hair?

Well, for hair, price is everything. I sourced the cheapest best value stylist, booked a trial and booked her for my date. Job done.

Except it wasn’t.

That’s not what happened at all.

Turns out I’ve a touch of the bridezillas after all and my hair was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Months ago I got it into my head that I wanted my hair half-up, half-down and curled with GHD straighteners. I’d found a picture on the internet and decided that was the style for me. I saved it to my ‘Wedding Planning’ folder on my desktop and ticked ‘Pick hairstyle’ off my To Do list.

A few weeks ago then the lovely hair lady called to the house for my trial.

“Do you have any ideas of what you want?” she asked pleasantly.

Indeed’n I do, I replied, opening up the picture on my computer and showing it to her. This, this is the one.

“Only this?” she asked doubtfully, but I was adamant. That was what I wanted and that was it.

So she curled and straightened pinned and swept, before leading me towards the mirror.

Fuck.

I looked like I was going Irish dancing.

In 1985.

What was I thinking?

I must have gone slightly into shock because I let the hair lady leave without saying anything. Even though she asked me if I wanted to try any more styles, that there was loads of time, that she could do whatever I wanted, I demurred and waved her off.

I spent the night looking in the mirror and periodically flinging myself down on the sofa, head in my hands, whimpering for mercy.

“Do you not like it?” ventured Yer Man after the noise of my teeth gnashing became too loud to ignore. “If you don’t like it, get her out again for another trial, there’s months until the wedding, so get her out again and try another style.”

But that’s what bridezillas do, I wailed. Picking on every little thing. Having trial after trial. Wanting to look ‘perfect’. Changing their mind every 14 seconds. I’m just going to have to live with it. It’s the principle of the thing. If I booked her for another trial, I’d be a bridezilla. A bridezilla, I emphasised.

He looked at me, a little sadly. “Sometimes it’s ok to be a bridezilla. Your hair is important, it’s going to be in all the photos with you, after all.”

So biting the bullet, I decided he was right – and that I could blame him if anyone accused me of being a perfectionist – and emailed the hair lady.

Her reply pinged back almost instantly. She had, it appears, been expecting my email. They are wise these ladies of hair.

So the second trial was set for today and I was much better prepared, with different photos and an open mind.

We settled on two styles, either of which she can knock out on the day with ease, so I don’t have to decide until the morning of the wedding.

One is a half-up, half-down style, but minus the ringlets. All sleekly smooth and swishy, with a mini-beehive for height.

The other is a curly blow dry, lots of volume but just some kicky curls at the ends. Controlled messy chic if you will.

I heaved a sigh of relief. It was going to be ok. I wouldn’t have to walk up the aisle looking like I was on my way to a Feis.

Yer Man was right, sometimes it IS ok to be a bridezilla and get what you really want.

And secretly, although it was a fleeting moment of ‘I want the world, I want the whole world’, I really kind of enjoyed it!

Now, about that helicopter DVD guy, I wonder if…

 

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