facebook has made it possible for us to follow the monumental moments of people’s lives.
You want to find out what that lad you met on holiday when you were 15, looks like now?* Just log on and search.
Before facebook you’d be like,
“remember Heather from school?”
“you know Heather, the one that was as big as The Beatles”
“well, anyway she’s married now”
Nowadays, I know full well she’s married, I found out about the wedding 456 days before, courtesy of My Big Day countdown app. I was more than informed about what she wore for the wedding, how many pounds she lost before she could get into the dress and what chair covers she had at the reception. I and 435 others have been privy to a, blow by blow account that the divorce papers are in the post and her ex-husband’s now called Maureen**.
I still find myself trawling through profiles of the people I went to school with and point and laugh when they’re pregnant for the third time. Ha look at you, look.
Then I remember that I am 28. This is what’s happening now isn’t it? Not that I’m worried about my biological clock; look at Cathy in Eastenders. Ben turned out fine.
My best mate’s getting married. The first of one of my closest friends to get hitched. I’m a Bridesmaid. I am incredibly chuffed to be asked and excited to bits about this. *giddy hand clap * eeeeeee!
The last time I was a bridesmaid I was 4 years old, and it was one of those situations where I ‘had’ to be a bridesmaid. Being the niece of the bride and that. I was a right arsehole when I was that age, so I’m certain that the decision to give me bridesmaid status wasn’t out of choice. I broke my bridesmaid gift about 3 seconds after I received it and made the other bridesmaid cry.
A 4 year old, Yorkshire Tony Soprano.
Last week, along with the bride and another gorgeous Best Mate of mine who’s a Bridesmaid, we went shopping for a Bridesmaid get-up for said Besso.
Now, irrespective of your relationship status, sexuality, size – every girl wants to try on a wedding dress once in their lifetime. I blame Phoebe and Rachel from Friends.
During our day of fun (the civilisation lasted about 3 hours, dirty indie clubs and Red Stripe swiftly followed), we found a shop that simply let us take a Bride costume/ wedding dress thing off the rail and try one on! I thought you had to book this shit in advance and drink champagne and cry and stuff.
No, just pick one and go in the changing room. Still utterly confused by this, I started talking really loud about my made-up wedding in case one of the store assistants sussed I wasn’t going to be a bride;
“I THINK THIS ONE’S TOO FLOUNCY”
“I’M TRYING TO BE MINALMISTIC FOR THIS ONE”
This one? Right there, on the spot I’d created a 28year old widowed alter-ego, with a simple dress sense.
I buddled the Grecian wedding dress under my arm and hot stepped it all giddy-like into the changing room. Once inside, I then couldn’t find the place to put my head and had to get the girls to come into the cubicle to try and free me from a tangled mess of cream fabric and netting.
When I’d escaped and had it properly on, I stood there in the mirror, looked at myself for a minute or so, draped in beautiful fabric and I thought…
This dress looks freaking awesome with purple trainers and a neon pink bra.
Regardless of the voyeuristic nature of facebook, there’s never been a more easily accessible and cost-free way to record everything you do. Not everyone can build a website. A photo album only tells half a story. Love it or hate it, facebook has created an interactive life log-book, where we can show our children and grandchildren where we were on a particular day in our lives ,what we were doing and who we were with (with optional soundtrack). We can show them the journey that got us there and the story after.
And in my case, on Saturday 2nd of March, in the Manchester Arndale, looking like a right bellend in a wedding dress.
*This actually happened. Curiosity got the better of me a few months ago. I think I’ll just stick to the memories of sand filled knickers and Bacardi Breezers. Someone had, had a HUGE paper round.
**I’m not anti-weddings and I don’t deny anyone happiness. I’m sure I’ll be exactly the same when some moron decides to marry me. In Vegas, by Elvis. The invites are one-sided A4 numbers, full colour, comic sans 12pt, drop shadow with wedding related clipart. It’s all planned out.
Form an orderly queue boys.