After getting married at a fabulous out-of-town ceremony attended by a close knit group of friends- many of them popular personalities in Nairobi-, our resident wine chic(k) Annabel Onyango muses about the whole affair.
By the time I was standing at the altar of that beautiful ceremony saying “I do”, I had not eaten in three
months. I mean I must have eaten something to keep me alive, but generally speaking, my appetite
had dwindled to the point of only needing a few random, force-fed slices of Gouda to keep me going for
the next design meeting.
I did not eat at the reception either. They brought me first a plate of salad, then a plate of spaghetti (who eats spaghetti while wearing the whitest, most expensive dress of their life?). Both of these were gobbled up by my now-husband who was sitting next to me. The sheer adrenaline of the occasion kept me going. That and the Swartland Cuvée Brut that was ever-present during that wedding weekend. We merrily toasted our way through the guest arrivals, welcome dinner, wedding rehearsal, getting our makeup done… At this point, I must add, only the makeup artist -Wacuka Thimba- unflinching in her professionalism, refused a glass.
Getting married is truly the best diet known to man. It is such an irony: for a protracted period of time, you surround yourself by decadent and delicious things that you plan to delight your nearest and dearest with; but you have no desire to indulge in any of it. It is generally agreed that looking waif-thin in your wedding dress is the best outcome a bride can hope for (even if it is a bi-product of extreme stress) but this was taking it a lot further than even I thought was acceptable. One more week of wedding planning and I would have surely dropped dead.
One month later, I can report that things have gone the other way, and the scale does not lie. This is either from sheer relief that the BIG DAY is over, or just the fact that I have more time on my hands for humanly pursuits – I now eat and drink like a horse. Just this past weekend for example: I ate out twice, had a multi-course dinner at a friend’s, drank countless beers, cocktails, and glasses (ok bottles) of wine, and ate an ice cream (I don’t even like sweets). Post-nuptials, there appears to be no limits to my appetite that was once so genteel and lady-like.
My marriage is as a robust as my new eating habits. We thank God. If I continue like this, however, there is no telling what I will have to squeeze myself into at our one year anniversary (a.k.a. wedding number 2).