Stars wrapped with fuchsia ribbons
There's about a month left to go for my best friend's wedding. And I, the overworked, underpaid, procrastinating friend, have done next to nothing about arranging a suitable bridal shower.
I was initially planning on a huge party at one of the lounges, with plenty of dancing, alcohol and loud bawdy jokes. (But we do that almost every weekend, dahling.) A night out would be a trifle redundant, so I'm still working on an appropriate substitute.
I've also decided to make a 'wedding care package' for Z, which would comprise a large number of little nothings.
A scrapbook with lots of embarrassing photographs and some of the letters we had written to each other. (Though we lived down the road from one another, exam times were when the two of us were quarantined. So we'd scribble notes and send our maids to deliver extremely important messages to one another. Yes, there were phones at the time, but this was such, such fun.)
A couple of books which I had recommended, but being the scatterbrain that she is, she'd forgotten about. Then again, maybe she was politely ignoring my suggestions. Anyhow, some forced reality reading, then.
Plenty of funky innerwear. This was supposed to have been done yesterday, but I was completely distracted by the Fabindias they've placed in every conceivable shopping area in the city. Also discovered was a new Good Things store tucked away on Comm. St, which took up a fair amount of time as well. (B was most upset that we weren't shopping for naughty lingerie.) You horrendously seductive pashmina stoles, you.
And lengths of double-shaded raw silk with which to do whatever her heart desires. (Because we are absolute divas when it comes to creating stringy tops from any sort of fabric.)
Knick knack shopping having been decided, the actual wedding 'present' still needs some serious contemplation. Instead of an inebriated girls' night out, I was thinking of gifting her a day at one of the spas I criticise ever so often. (Okay, so sue me. I'm ready to make a compromise for my best friend's complete rapture.)
I may be a junglee myself, but Z totally deserves the best.
Much like the best friend. (That would be me.) See?
I was initially planning on a huge party at one of the lounges, with plenty of dancing, alcohol and loud bawdy jokes. (But we do that almost every weekend, dahling.) A night out would be a trifle redundant, so I'm still working on an appropriate substitute.
I've also decided to make a 'wedding care package' for Z, which would comprise a large number of little nothings.
A scrapbook with lots of embarrassing photographs and some of the letters we had written to each other. (Though we lived down the road from one another, exam times were when the two of us were quarantined. So we'd scribble notes and send our maids to deliver extremely important messages to one another. Yes, there were phones at the time, but this was such, such fun.)
A couple of books which I had recommended, but being the scatterbrain that she is, she'd forgotten about. Then again, maybe she was politely ignoring my suggestions. Anyhow, some forced reality reading, then.
Plenty of funky innerwear. This was supposed to have been done yesterday, but I was completely distracted by the Fabindias they've placed in every conceivable shopping area in the city. Also discovered was a new Good Things store tucked away on Comm. St, which took up a fair amount of time as well. (B was most upset that we weren't shopping for naughty lingerie.) You horrendously seductive pashmina stoles, you.
And lengths of double-shaded raw silk with which to do whatever her heart desires. (Because we are absolute divas when it comes to creating stringy tops from any sort of fabric.)
Knick knack shopping having been decided, the actual wedding 'present' still needs some serious contemplation. Instead of an inebriated girls' night out, I was thinking of gifting her a day at one of the spas I criticise ever so often. (Okay, so sue me. I'm ready to make a compromise for my best friend's complete rapture.)
I may be a junglee myself, but Z totally deserves the best.
Much like the best friend. (That would be me.) See?
posted by chamique at 04:12
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