Burying the sausage

 I appear to have stepped into a twilight world. One where the rules have changed, where things that were impossible are now probable and routines, traditions and expectations are borrowed from any country or religion you fancy. It's a world I like but I am having to check my thoughts. 

The world I'm talking about is the wedding planning planet.

Weddings bring out many emotions. Just looking at venues or talking about who won't be there or the roles that those who will be might take is enough to bring tears to the eyes. A different kind of stinging eye-watering happens when you start to look at the cost.

As a happily married parent, you look back at your own wedding, with rose-coloured specs. You might try to persuade your child - yes child, which brings more wetness to the eyes - that they should have everything you had. I can imagine that if your marriage had broken down then you might be temped to persuade them that any money spent would end up being a waste. Even if you had an extravagant wedding yourself and had no regrets, then the fact that inflation rules seem to have by-passed the wedding industry will make you feel as though a fish-bone is stuck in your throat (which has nothing to do with the fact that your baby has grown up - honestly!).

I know that people have been getting married all this time but I really haven't paid much attention to the conversations.

'That's nice,' I would have said, not really listening because the details of what the new rules are didn't matter to me.

However, now that I'm on Post-Proposal Planet I've started to listen and much of it is really funny.

We have been looking at venues in the worst summer weather I can remember.

'Oh no, the poor bride,' everyone thinks. I'm not sure why it's just the bride but that's what people say as they look at the sky, darkening, threatening. 

'She'll ruin her Jimmy Choos,' they say, looking at the rivers of rain, flooding the courtyard.

'I've heard that rainy weddings are often the best because everyone makes more of an effort,' my daughter told me.  

There is a tradition, that I hadn't heard of before last week. I was actually properly listening to a conversation about a wedding that was due to happen soon.

'I'm checking the weather every two minutes and it changes all the time.' 

The bride-to-be was hoping for an outdoor wedding.

'Is there an alternative?'

'Yes but I don't want it. I'm getting married outside. No. I am getting married outside, even if we need wellies and umbrellas.'

'You need to bury the sausage before the wedding.'

'Yes, I'm planning to,'

Wait. What? My properly listening ears were confused. Bury the sausage? It sounded like a euphemism but surely you weren't meant to see the groom before the wedding. Maybe that tradition is one that has been dropped.

'What kind of sausage?' I asked. 'Do you have to cook it? Does it have to be you? Would it help if we all buried a sausage?'

Apparently, it's a Spanish tradition, so I suspect it should be Chorizo but someone told a story of how she had taken one from a fridge, prompting an irate call from her groom, who was confused that he now wasn't able to give sausage sandwiches to all of his groomsmen on the wedding morning. She had no regrets and swears it worked, even though it was December and she slipped on some ice.