It was a big bash on the bonny banks of Loch Lomond in a five-star country house hotel with salmon and roast lamb for dinner, an 18-piece marching pipe band, several out-of-country guests and several more bottles of French wine.
It was truly the best day of my life.
I never expected my parents to pay for my wedding. You get to a certain age and it really isn’t appropriate. Besides, it was the height of the dot com boom and I was earning obscene amounts of money (don't get the wrong picture, a paper bag could have landed a high paying marketing job in those days.)
I planned the event. The bills came to me. I paid them out of my accounts.
We never talked about who was going to pay for what. Ultimately, it didn’t matter, right?
I should have seen a pattern emerging. Did I tell you my hubby is Scottish?
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