The celebrating started one weekend in September,
Ended with the wedding in deep and dark November,
First there was the hen night with boogie bus and stripper,
L-plates, bridal veil, dancing, drinks and dinner.
Next we held the hen weekend, booked a minibus and driver,
With many comfort stops, it took hours before arrival,
The house was grand with hot tub – a real luxurious stay,
A dozen hens – we partied with champagne all the way.
The night before the Big Day a limo picked us up,
We toasted bride and bridesmaids with wine in plastic cups,
The mother of the bride whose name I cannot mention,
Fell out of the limo – it had been quite a session.
She ate far too much dinner, drank other folks’ cocktails,
Crawling off to bed, her face was oh so pale,
Next morning, very early – before the light of dawn,
The wedding party – delicate – hung their heads and yawned.
The make-up girls arrived at seven on the dot,
To plaster over cracks, laughter lines and spots,
Then finery was donned, the bride was beautiful,
Her handsome groom was waiting, looking very cool.
They took their wedding vows with binding of the hands,
Their three-year-old was yelling as they exchanged their wedding bands,
The DJ fired up – there was dancing, hugs and kissing,
Until the shout went up – the three-year-old was missing.
An over-anxious relative said, ‘We must call the police’,
But our boy was found upstairs, just looking for some peace,
Then the mother of the bride took him off to bed,
For she was glad of time out to rest her weary head.
So if your daughter’s getting married just try to remember,
Don’t party hard like me, from September to November,
I had a real good time, as did all the others,
But it took me until Christmas to feel I had recovered.