Two weeks proper since I became Mrs C.  I’d like to say it’s a milestone of sorts, but marriage feels, surprisingly, sedate.  Not much has changed other than the fact that there’s now someone in bed with me (almost) every night, and I cook for two now, as opposed to just dabao-ing for one.

To be fair, my husband has been away in Paris for 5 days out of the 14 we’ve been married.  But that time apart has afforded me some “me” time – time to preen, time to walk around, sit around doing nothing, including not picking up after myself, and time to be sick cos I was down with a pretty massive throat infection during that whole time.

I like being married.  I like being married more than I liked being a bride.  That is strange to me cos I’ve always thought I’d be one of those girls who would miss the wedding and miss being a bride and suffer massive withdrawal symptoms that necessitates a major career change like becoming a professional wedding planner.

Don’t get me wrong, our wedding was amazing, so much more beautiful, more meaningful and more fun than I’d expected.  E gets a lot of credit for that.  He insisted on a venue stylist, money I thought we could have put towards a honeymoon of a lifetime, but Anna of Spellbound turned that ballroom into a twinkly-lit enchanted garden so beautiful I couldn’t have imagined a more magical place to celebrate becoming Mrs C.

He insisted on hiring a professional emcee, one very elegantly hilarious Mr Sebastian Tan aka Broadway Beng, so none of our friends had to be put under the pressure of being entertaining, and more often than not, falling short.

He insisted on two food tasting sessions cos the appetisers didn’t quite cut it that first time, he upgraded some items on the menu cos “okay lah” wasn’t good enough for our wedding.  He put so much thought into the alcohol for that night, including procuring bottles of “special” whiskies and sake for our tables of friends and associates who enjoy a good celebratory glass of libation.  And the band!  My best surprise that night was the band.  53A, the most talented local band, in my opinion, played at our wedding, and gave us the most beautiful rendition of our march-in song, Safety Suit’s Never Stop.  Every person I spoke to after the wedding had only words of praise for the band who played two very rousing sets and made everyone feel festive and jubilant.

E’s mandate from the beginning was that he didn’t want this to be a forgettable, lets-do-this-for-the-parents dog and pony show.  He wanted it to be fun, he wanted it to be a celebration not just for the families, but for everyone in attendance.  He wanted it to be a party.  And for me, and for the people I love, it was a party in celebration of two people they cared about.  To that end, it was everything E wanted it to be.

Due credit also needs to be given to the wonderful friends and family who worked tirelessly and unrelentingly to ensure the logistics-laden wedding went on without any visible hitches, some of them even going the extra mile to spontaneously pre-empt awkward and potentially combustible situations that hadn’t been anticipated by E and myself.

Perhaps it is in part because I have no regrets associated with the wedding, life after marriage feels serene.  It’s not the stuff of fairytales; it’s not a revelation, it’s not a vision of hearts and rainbows, it’s mundane, it’s staid, but it’s lovely in the nicest possible way.  Two people, personality flaws, idiosyncrasies and all, coming together and working out how best to co-exist.

So as I was saying, I like being married.  I love him more with each passing day cos I see more of him in his natural state, and he’s lovely.  He’s much more than the stoic man of few words that everyone’s made him out to be, he’s warm, he’s funny as hell, he picks up after himself, he cleans up my messes (albeit with much grumbling), he appreciates my cooking, and even though he’s a grouchy bear when he wakes up in the morning, I couldn’t have chosen a better man to share the rest of my life with.

Mrs C is content.

Last week, E and I had dinner with his parents and sister at this Italian place. One of the specials was a burrata rocket salad with these little red tomatoes which go by names like cherry tomatoes, or worse, honey tomatoes which is very often a misnomer cos they’re rarely sweet enough to be associated […]

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A girlfriend told me earlier this week that her kids remarked that “Auntie L must be rich, cos she drives a bright red Mercedes.”  That was somewhat flattering… I think.  I don’t think they meant anything by it though personally, I think wealth, or the perception thereof, is relative.  To someone who would and could splash […]

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