Oim a broide!!!!!

Yes people - it looks like it's wedding bells for me at long last!

Well not quite. Y'see somedays my job can feel dull, sometimes it's quite cool and sometimes, like today, it is pure unadulterated gold. Next week as part of a research project we are doing I will be paid to spend 2 whole days trying on and shopping for wedding dresses. Next week I assume my 'broide to be' persona and trawl the shops looking at big white dresses and taking notes. I can't wait.

But I could be in for some trouble. Not really being the bridal type most wedding dresses look the same to me. Actually not the same but there seem to be just two styles.

Style number one: the strapless wedding dress. Invariably chosen by the girl that shouldn't - she will either have a: no boobs to hold it up b: ginormous boobs that will drag it down or c: is quite large and gives the impression that she is being squeezed to death by the dress with most of her boobs and random flab spilling out the top, just like a muffin. If she is a princess type she will choose the big puffy skirt to go with it, and if she thinks she is a bit classy she will choose something a little straighter in the skirt department - either way she is guaranteed to spend her big day grabbing at the top of the dress and hiking it up in the direction of her armpits.

Style number two: the slinky, satin, halterneck, floor length number. Often looks like a nightie and is usually chosen by slightly older, cooler girls who think that it is a bit different. They are of course deluding themselves, the only thing different about it is the fact that it is not strapless. The slinky halterneck will in fact look just like the other dresses of the other 40 percent of brides who choose not to go strapless. The slinky number is also guaranteed to show off even the slightest hint of a gut, even on a skinny girl.

Add a veil or some flowers in the hair, chuck in a ceremony held outdoors at some scenic spot where no one will be able to hear a thing due to the wind, or the other weddings happening nearby and then it's onto a reception place where each wedding tends to blend into the last with the more drinks you have and voila, you have a Sydney wedding.

Don't I sound cynical? Maybe I will be changed by my experiences next week and will be reduced to a quivering wreck at the sight of myself in a big white frock and want to rush out and do it for real. Doubt it, but I wish I could take some piccies - it will be hilarious, specially when I try and squeeze myself into that big, puffy, strapless number.