"Going to the Chapel and I'm Gonna Get Castrated" -My Wedding Pt 1

The Hood Ornament on Our Car
Just Seemed to Mock Me.

Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today on this blog  to mourn the passing of a young man's singledome and to celebrate the union of two souls who have now joined the legion of the damned In the bonds of holy matrimony. Now let us bow our heads.....

Based on the feedback I have received on Facebook on my wall and via private message on the popularity of my recent 'Day in the Life' blog many of you want to know exactly how my wedding day went. Seeing as how I moaned about it enough in the lead up to the big day, I figured that it was only fair that let you lovely people know. This whole blog is cathartic therapy for me afterall, but this two-part special will be the last I discuss the wedding. So here is  the first part of my brutally honest, warts and all account of my wedding day. Enjoy.



Ninja Turtles and Jet Fuel.

Raphael Never Needed to Worry
About Weddings.

I had chosen to spend the day at Mum O'Neill's house away from the Missus. Perhaps it was because I'm old fashioned at heart, or because I'm a stickler for tradition. Or perhaps it was because I was desperate to keep my independence for as long as possible. Either way I stayed overnight with Mum O'Neill in my home town where the wedding would be. Mum O'Neill has always been really happy and supportive of the wedding. This could be because she's a nice lady, or perhaps because she wants to see me married and properly fucked off before she pops her dear old cloggs. It was strange waking up in my old bedroom where I had spent all of my childhood and adolescence, a surreal quality which just made me want to jump out of bed and onto my skateboard and play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with my friends rather than get married. I always chose to be Raphael because he had cool ninja Sai but also because he was a grumpy, moody, curmudgeonly bastard and it was a sign of things to come. Anyway I digress.

The Smile on My Face Belies
the Sadness in My Eyes.

Mum O'Neill woke me up early with an orange juice, singing an adorable rendition of "Chapel of Love". "Come on sing!" she exclaimed. "Oh he's going to the chapel and he's gonna get married!". I smiled and replied "Swap one of those words with 'castrated' and you'll be right on the money". After a bite to eat I told Mum O'Neill that I was off for a walk to clear my head. I went to visit Dad O'Neill's grave. He had died about 6 months ago and as it was my wedding day I wanted to include him (kinda). His favourite tipple was Drambuie so I bought a miniature bottle to pour on his grave. I thought it would be quite touching if I took a sip first, but that was a big mistake. "Holy fuck! That shit is jet fuel! How the fuck could you like that? Honestly, no wonder you're dead. Drinking that I'm amazed you lasted as long as you did. Here's the rest, and you're fucking welcome to it, you madman". Because we had that kind of relationship.


I'll Have a Packet of Monster Munch, a Can of Irn Bru and a Pre-nup Please.

"Ohh Ye'll Tak' the High Road
an' Ah'll Tak' the Low Road...."

I nipped into the shop for a packet of Monster Munch and a can of Irn Bru (because I'm such a classy and sophisticated individual) and by the time I had returned it was time to have a shower and get changed. By this point it had been relayed to me that the Missus had made it out to Sis O'Neill's house to get changed 'n' shit. Sis O'Neill was my best man because Chuck Norris hadn't turned up, or even replied to my request, the ignorant bastard. Still, Sis O'Neill was a fine man to stand in and she turned up to make sure I hadn't tried to drown myself by sticking my head down the toilet, or in the oven. Once showered, I got into my wedding clothes and all of a sudden it became excruciatingly real. I'm not one to wear a fancy bow tie waistcoat and shiny silver buttons with a kilt. In my mind that seems as about as far as you can get from traditional Scottish wear. If you're going to wear a bow tie with a kilt then you may as well just dress up as an Oompa Loompa.


Pregnant Womens' Shirts and Other National Apparel.

"I Do" Motherfuckers!

Everything fitted perfectly, apart from everything. My kilt was standard length, but it seemed to highlight how much of a shortarse I am, because it was in danger of resembling a pencil skirt. My Jacobite shirt was the worst though, as it was about 4000 sizes too big. I had bought it many a moon ago and had never had the chance to take it out of the packaging until now. Jacobite shirts are supposed to be baggy and very loose fitting, but it looked as though I had stolen a heavily pregnant woman's shirt. They say that necessity is the mother of invention, and that was certainly the case with me. I always wanted to wear a sgian dubh (which for the benefit of my overseas readers is pronounced "skee'an doo") a traditional Scottish dagger which is tucked into the sock, but thanks to the country's ultra strict rules on carrying blades, most of them have fake blades. Then I got a brainwave - Dad O'Neill's letter opener. I bought Dad O'Neill a letter opener with a celtic knot style which happened to exactly match the pattern on my sporran, so a Sgian Dubh I did!

Just Before Kick Off.

When I arrived at the Chapel most of our family and friends were already there and I immediately felt like the guy who mistakenly went to a normal party in fancy dress as a reject from Braveheart. I awkwardly did the whole meet 'n' greet "Thanks for coming" thing to the guests and took my seat in front of the alter next to my best woman. Mum O'Neill was more preoccupied with the strategic positioning of my sporran, as every now and again it would cause the front of the kilt to ride up, giving the impression that I had a colossal erection. It's never fun having your mum think that you are sexually aroused in front of her, I mean it wouldn't have been so bad if I DID have one, but as I was completely flaccid I wanted everyone to know that I was such, so they in no way could be mistaken into thinking that I was enjoying the day any more than I actually was.


Getting Married With Holey Socks and No Underwear.

The New Government Approved
Safety Sgian Dubh.

It was past 3pm and the Missus was officially late. I wasn't too worried, as it is tradition for the bride to be late, and because I was enjoying some precious extra bittersweet moments as owner of my own testicles. That was when it hit me - I was still wearing my boxer shorts under my kilt. I had completely forgotten to take them off as I got dressed. I felt a strange mixture of shame and disappointment and could imagine Dad O'Neill saying "Kieran, I love you very much. We've always been best pals and I'm so proud to see you get married today. But you're wearing boxers under your kilt. You disgust me.". So praying the Missus didn't arrive whilst I was away, I snuck into the priest's changing room and worked my boxers down around my ankles and tried to take them off. I didn't notice however that one leg hole had caught itself in my sgian dubh, so when I straightened up, the dagger tore a decent sized hole in my sock. So there I stood, knickerless in a priest's changing room with holey socks and a pair of boxer shorts in my hand. Insert your own joke there. I tried to roll them up and put them in my sporran but it was full with my mobile, wallet and keys etc, so I calmly walked back to the alter, approached Mum O'Neill and asked her to put my boxers in her handbag, and sat down in my seat like nothing had happened.

Smile Bitches.

At this point the music started up and my heart jumped into my mouth and my balls jumped up to where my heart had been. As I turned around and saw the Missus walking up the isle with her flowergirl and bridesman (male bridesmaid - it was that kind of wedding) I swear, I have never seen anyone so beautiful. Unfortunately my mouth decided to agree in a way only it could; by engaging before my brain was given a chance to catch up. "Holy shit!" I exclaimed, only to see the priest staring at me accusingly. The ceremony itself went off hitchless although when it came time for the vows, when the priest asked me the 'Til death do you part?' bit, instead of saying 'I do', I absent-mindedly said "Ummmmm OK". From a nonchalant reply bordering on disrespectful to an eagerness bordering on psychopathic now, because when the priest said "Missus, do you take..." the Missus interrupted him with "I do". He could have asked her anything;

"I Just Did" Motherfuckers!

~ "Missus, do you take Kieran to Disney World?"
~ "Missus, do you promise to love, honour and go down on Kieran everyday, so long as you both shall live?"
~ "Missus, will you sign a cast iron pre-nup, agreeing that should he ever become rich and famous and were to divorce you, you would not demand 50% of all his shit, including the Playstation 3?".

To agree to all of that without hearing it, well that shows committment. The Missus, what a woman....



To be continued....

Kieran x