Oli gets Married, Chapter 3

I woke up that Saturday morning with Blue walking over my legs. He does that every now and then. Less fun is when he falls asleep on my face.

I showered, lotioned, and did the general girl thing before going upstairs to greet the family, and the day. The house was buzzing with my parents and a couple of friendly early bird arrivals; pretty soon we were swarmed with family, a bridal party, beauty crew, dog sitter, and more food than any group could possibly finish.

I have been on one bridal party before this, and breakfast at the bride’s house consisted of cheap oatmeal cookies and stale chips. I really have to hand it to moms for pulling everything off as beautifully as she did, and for the mountains of edibles available to us. The sandwich table alone was a sight to behold; think 40 rolls and assorted bagels, and one pound each of cheddar, havarti, smoked turkey, roast beef, prosciutto cotto, the list goes on.

As much as I would have loved to snack and schmooze the morning away, there were preparations to be done. First dining room station: hair. That’s right, Lancey Pantsy was at my place of residence, doing what we all know him to do best. He pulled a chair out for me, and I sat into it, ready to become beauty queen that only he can turn me into.

I’d picked up this gorgeous hairclip from one of my favourite jewellery designers, Danny Pollak, and just had to have it in my curls that day. I’d pictured something simple; the top of my hair pulled back and clipped, with the rest loose around my shoulders. Alas for poor Lancey, my Airport Neurosis overlaps onto, My Sister is getting Married, Dammit!, I’m quite sure I drove him bonkers with my constant shitpicking and endless whining: “Laaaance! When's it going to be my turn already? I want to get dressed!”

As always, Lance rose to the occasion. He twirled my tresses and pulled extra hard when my squeals hit too high a pitch.

Second dining room station: makeup. Shana, the makeup girl, looked like an avant garde Thora Birch, and packed more eye shadow palletes than Ivan the Terrible had mistresses.

We agreed that smoky colours were best, being that my dress and shoes were mauvy, and so she dabbed, lined and brushed away.

For someone that's never even had the (dis)pleasure of meeting me before, she did a job and a half. My lids were dreamy and my lashes batted ferociously with that, “maybe I'm born with it” vibe. Way to go, Shana.

Dining room stations were over, but there was still plenty left on the agenda. For one, I had to prep the flowergirls of terror, Jinny and Joy. Dressing two giggling five and two-year old sisters, then making sure their hair stays intact and their dresses clean, is quite the job. I won't say I handled it quite swimmingly, but they did make it out the door in two immaculate pieces. Thank you, thank you very much.

For two: allocate ushers to various changeroom locations around the house. A few of dem big boys used my room. Fuck. So much for me being ready on time.

For three: Check on the dog. My good friend Alfred was gracious enough to come and look after Blue for the day. Somewhat paid, naturally. My heart needed to rest assured that he'd be well looked after on a day when we all happened to be indisposed. What can I say, I'll do almost anything for my baby. The dog, that is.

Finally, for three: I had to dress myself. My room was finally free, and so it was just me and that mauve wonder. And the La Perla corset, which, little did I know right then, would become the bain of my existence.

I put on my dress, zipped it up, slipped on my heels and carefully walked over to the full length-mirror in the entrance hallway. I just stared at myself in shock, the average girl who'd suddenly been transformed into a Cinderella, and in semi-trance said to my reflection, “I'm pretty. I'm really pretty.”

You didn't just believe that, did you? Who are we kidding? I so didn't do that. I'm sure I looked fine and all, judging by the compliments everyone was throwing around at each other that morning, but I had something a lot more important to do at that moment, then just gawk at myself.

I had to help my sister. Oli'd been doing the chicken dance all day, and there was only one more item left for her to tackle. Her wedding dress hung on the back of my basement bedroom door, and it was finally time for it to come on.

There is no such thing as fuss in my sister's life; none that she would create herself, that is. Oli is not about the extras, but more about the simple features made spectacular by her sparkling presence. Of course, she would never put it that way. That's why I'm here.

Oli put on her own white corset, while I unzipped the fancy garment bag with the baby blue grosgrain ribbon on top, and took out her gown. White silk taffeta, empire waistline, spaghetti straps, and a full fortuny skirt with a slight ruffle peeking out from the extra layer underneath.

Her makeup was smoky too, and her chin-length black hair was simply done, held back with a rhinestone clip. I zipped my sister up, smoothed down her skirt, helped her into her heels, and watched as she turned around.

I'll have my Cinderella moments in the future, I'm sure, but this one was all Oli. She was breathtaking.

We looked at each other, and smiled. No tears here; this was a happy day, and we would have many more to come. “Ready, sis?”

Oli took a deep breath. I handed over her bouquet of white flowers, which she took. “Ready.”

And with that, we left my room. It was time to get married.