A Daily Thing

Here is some advice from me to you: don’t try to pull off an impromptu wedding in less than 6 weeks. I’ve been there and it’s a tad stressful.
Also not ideal: introducing your future husband to your father for the first time and breaking the news of your impending wedding during dinner (my father is even twitchier than me and does not like surprises).
Add birth certificates with apostilles, finding accredited translators to certify in French I can be married to an Australian national, medical visits, and blood tests. Reception (small), invitations (did them ourselves). Head spinning yet?

When all that’s ticked off your list you need to find rings and something to wear (lest you want to get married in your bathing suit as my friend Charlotte joked).
Christian asked me if I wanted an engagement ring, and I said no: I found the idea of dropping money on something I would wear for just 6 weeks before the event kind of pointless. So I said: ‘Let’s get some nicer and special wedding rings instead’. At that point, time = 10 days away from W Day.

We visited dozens of Paris jewellers and couldn’t find anything we would be happy wearing forever (in my mind I’m not going to die – no seriously you know what I mean).
We really offended one Place de l’ Opéra who scolded us for not having done this two months prior. When I said two months prior we did not know we were getting married, he looked like he was going to slap me.

Finally we found what we were looking for: nicer, special, and they came in Christian’s and my mini finger sizes. Except, we had to go Place Vendôme to get them – to a plush and quiet, intimidating, security-guarded jeweller.
On the day we had to go in I was really nervous.  Silly right? So I obsessed about what to wear and even put a pretty headband on. Except, it had been raining that day and I made the mistake of waiting to cross the street too close to the road. And that’s when a bus took a sharp turn and splashed me with muddy water head to toe. I was drenched (and muddy). Christian was doing a very good job containing himself (he looked kind of concerned actually) while I squealed: ‘Now they’re not going to open the door for me are they, I look like a soaked muddy hobo!’ (I didn’t).
So I ended up going to and sitting in a Place Vendôme jewellery store with bits of mud still attached to my hair and wet muddy jeans, while trying on my wedding ring. The people working there never looked at me funny for a minute (or refused to open the door for that matter). That’s professionalism for you.
And I didn’t get married in a bathing suit either. We pulled it all off. Just. Phew.

(Image is from here).