The Bridal Shower
I am woken by phone calls arranging transport to the bridal shower, which I didn’t know was on. I’m feeling worse for wear after sampling many American beers last night and I have twenty minutes to get ready. I'll never be ready.
At the shower, I reunite with Janet, a fellow Australian and friend from Dubai. She’s much more glamorous than I am, so I immediately feel self-conscious. Neither of us has been to a bridal shower before. I suspect American ones are different, too – this feels like a sorority get-together. I have never been in a room with so many girls and let me tell you, they are loud. Janet and I hang around the edges of the room, awed by the decibels being produced.
The shower goes for hours. The first part is all gossip and squealing. Then the bride opens the majority of the wedding gifts. Apparently this is her prerogative. The groom has no say. The sorority girls talk about their special memories with the bride and made a posy of the bows from the gift wrapping for the rehearsal dinner. Janet and I spend most of the time with no idea what they are talking about, feeling like heffers as all the girls are twenty-something, slim, long-legged and with perfect teeth. Perhaps Hollywood is a true representation of America?
In the evening, we wander over to Grandma’s house across the road for the rehearsal dinner. This is nothing formal – we chow down on pork ribs and pulled pork – a new thing from me, which I learn is meat from the pig’s shoulder barbecued until tender then gently pulled from the bones, doused with a chili vinaigrette. It’s mouthwatering. We sit and chat while the bridal party practices walking up and down the driveway in the right order.
The Big Day
I am much refreshed after a good night’s sleep and lie by the pool at the motel most of the day writing postcards. I’m being picked up at 4pm, but I’m paranoid they are going to forget me and I will not get to the wedding. By 4.20pm there is still no sign of the bus. Panic sets in. I have no idea what to do. Shortly afterwards, a charter bus pulls up on the other side of the road. I clamber hastily onboard and don’t recognise anyone. Then Janet pops her head above a seat back. Relief.
The wedding is at Berkeley Plantation, which takes almost an hour to get to. We entertain ourselves by eavesdropping on the conversations from the American side. The guy in front of us is hilarious. We want to sit next to him at the reception.
The plantation is beautiful, with extensive green gardens. The ceremony is held on an expanse of lawn, where we all sweat in the afternoon sun. The bride looks stunning and with the groom, they form a perfect couple. Their vows are so sincere they leave everyone in tears. I’m filled with joy for them, tinged with envy.
After the ceremony, we move to a marquee for the reception. Our high heels pierce the grass and if we stand too long in one place we become rooted to the spot as the heels work like tent pegs. Hours later, back in town, I find a square of turf attached to my heel.
The reception is casual and the groom’s brother gives a tongue-in-cheek speech that we’re not sure if the Americans understand. We chat, eat, and dance along to the New Orleans style band that rocks the place. As the bridal couple leave, we light sparklers to line their path. We are then herded on to the bus, some of us a tad worse for wear from the wedding wine.
Post-wedding
Nothing is planned for today and after a long lie in I’m not sure what to do with myself. My friends have gone to a theme park, which is $60 to get in plus taxi fare, so I opt out. I walk into town for a coffee, but don’t run into anyone, so head back to the hotel and pack again, write emails, and entertain myself with trash television.
At 7pm we all meet for a Historic Ghost Tour. It’s not dark, which eliminates a large part of the fear. We are led around three different buildings in the colonial centre and women act out scenes for us, which are only mildly creepy. They give us a little of the history we have missed by not going into the museums.
After the tour, we have a fantastic meal at The Fat Canary. We all try little bits of each other’s meals. The ribs win the best appetiser vote, while for mains, the soft-shelled blue crab comes out tops. You eat the whole crab, shell and all, in its light batter. I have to close my eyes to stop my imagination seeing the crab outline as a spider. It’s worth it. Pulled pork and soft-shelled crab are my new favourite things.
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