Anyone who has had to organise a wedding knows that it requires the stamina of a marathon runner, the serenity of a saint and the diplomacy skills of UK ambassador based in some far-flung hotspot. And that’s under normal circumstances. Factor in planning during a pandemic, and the stress levels assume stratospheric proportions.
This is what is accounting for my increasingly short temper, my habit of bursting into tears at the slightest opportunity and the fact that I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in six months. Covid has added a whole new dimension to what is normally a joyful, if busy time.
Firstly, there’s the question of will the wedding be allowed to take place at all? As things stand, I doubt that there will be another full lockdown within the next month, but I do know of people who had to cancel their long-awaited simchahs as the ban on all celebrations came into force, so it is at the back of my mind as I listen in panic to the daily rising Covid numbers.
If we suddenly go from having 220 guests to being allowed only 30, how does that work? Will our friends ever forgive us and who gets the chop? Will there be an almighty broiges if most of our relatives don’t make the cut and the bridal couple just invite their friends? (Come to think of it, that could work out quite nicely… and save us a fortune.)
Then there is the question of testing. Do we ask all the guests to do a test prior to turning up? This risks people letting us down at the last minute (do you know what a decent caterer charges per head at the moment?) and their meals will go to waste. Or perhaps we should ask that everyone has a booster before attending? Should we insist on everyone wearing masks at the ceremony (matching the inscribed kippot, of course)? A mask will play havoc with my make-up, which is costing a fortune, so there is no way I am going to cover up. I’m hyperventilating most of the time as it is, and a mask would make things worse.
Trouble is, everybody is a different level of “Covid-frum”. Some of us just want to get back to normal life, others are more wary and there are a few who have stayed home and slowly disappeared into their own black hole of despair and paranoia. We have got out of the habit of attending weddings and bar/batmitzvahs. Lockdown may have given me the opportunity to perfect my challah-making skills, but it has also given me an impressive muffin-top and the thought of having to squeeze myself into a posh frock as mother of the bride has added to the stress. I have also forgotten how to walk in high heels, having spent the past 20 months in comfy slippers or trainers. Glamour just has not been in my vocabulary lately.
Judging how our guests will feel about sitting in a large room on tables of 10 or 12 is impossible. Will they get up and dance together or just do individual jigs in the corners of the hall? I spent an age choosing floral centrepieces, but I’m seriously considering having displays of hand sanitisers in a variety of scents on each table instead.
My daughter is a lot calmer than I am, but then I am planning the event, whereas she just has to turn up, look gorgeous and get married. Whether I look good or a frazzled wreck on the big day remains to be seen. I just want to get there in one piece and pray there are no petrol shortages so everyone else can too.
And I’m going to take a bottle of solvent with me in the bridal car, just in case I have to unstick any Insulate Britain protestors who glue themselves to the road en route to the chupah.
We’ll get there! But I’ll be so glad to be looking back on it.
