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31 March 2014

Diary of a Bride-to-be: The Nightmare of Discovering My Dad Has Written a Speech

I went to visit my dad over the weekend and we shot the breeze over a few beers. He’s often teased that he’s had his wedding speech planned out for years, but this weekend I discovered the dreaded father-of-the-bride speech has been written. My dad is carrying it around in his wallet and won’t let anyone read it, not even my step-mum. Queue internal monologue of possible awful stories he’s going to tell. As a cathartic exercise, I’m going to divulge some of the possible stories I think he could spill to my friends and family; if I say them now then it won’t seem so bad on the day right?

The One Where I Let a House Party Get Out of Control

When I was 14, my dad used to head over to his girlfriend’s for the weekend and leave me the keys to his house. I imagine he thought I was sensible enough to be trusted with an empty house. He was wrong. I opened the door to my school and made so much noise that the elderly deaf neighbour complained. It makes me cringe thinking back on it, blasting out Sum 41 at 3am in the morning and pretending I was much older than I was. Needless to say the neighbours promptly told my dad and my rights to the weekend party pad were revoked.

The One Where He Shouted at a Mechanic and I Cried

My dad used to live in America and I went and spent a couple of weeks out there with him when I was 7. During this time, he drove a Mustang with tinted windows (what a G eh?) and he got pulled over whilst I was in the car because they were too tinted. Off we went to the garage to get them sorted. A dispute occurred with the mechanic and my dad (who very rarely shouts) started to get pretty angry. I ran into the Miami wilderness and hid, mortified by my dad shouting at Carlos the mechanic. He coaxed me back with a promise to visit Parrot Jungle after the work was finished.

The One with THAT Parent’s Evening

I was generally quite a studious child, apart from at the age of 13, where I decided that school wasn’t really for me. Instead of studying, I put my efforts into trying out makeup and writing a daily diary about boys in school. I shunned my standard issue school coat for a denim jacket (which in my head made me like, the bomb) and treated school as a place to do whatever I wanted. I jumped out of a (ground floor) window during a lesson because I thought it was boring. I was living the high life of not having a care in the world, until parents evening rolled around and my escapades were divulged to my mum and dad. Mum cried, I cried, dad seethed. I was banned from the school disco and pretty quickly reverted back to a relatively nice kid. My weeks as a tearaway were over.

I was a really odd child so I’m positive there are many more stories he could choose from. I’m in talks with my stepsister (who is also my Maid of Honour, and therefore duty-bound to help me) about stealing the speech from the wallet he’s carefully guarding. Failing that I’m going to have to suck it up and take it like a big girl – rather than a 13 year old with a serious attitude problem.

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