Katie Maloy’s Real Bride Blog UH Comes Home
Katie, 33, is in PR, while her ex-soldier H2B, 38, is a close protection bodyguard (also known as UH: Ultimate Hero). She is sharing her wedding diary with us in the countdown to her big day on April 30, 2011.
Ah, what a week. So the last time I checked in with you girls I was debating outfit choices to wear when my Ultimate Hero arrived home. For the record, I went with the Fifties-style fitted shift dress. While it is fitted and hard to run in sometimes, you just can’t sacrifice style, and I thought I was making a big enough compromise shafting the heels for the day just to satisfy UH’s respect for health and safety procedure; I couldn’t eclipse that with a ‘sensible’ outfit choice too. So I stuck to my guns and went with style over practicality. I went with flat, bejewelled t-bar shoes. If I am going to go flat, I won’t ballet pump it, I need something a little sparkly!
I am not sure the Hero noticed that much anyway. As much as he loves to complain about the fuss I make over him at arrivals, he totally loves it. This time was a little different though. I had Oracle Nomad in tow. Oracle was getting on the plane UH was coming off. Oracle made it very clear he didn’t want to be there when UH and his perfectly formed shoulders showed up, so he hid in a nearby coffee place. The good thing about this was that my fear of objects catapulting out of my handbag and injuring anxious relatives was dissolved; the Oracle guarded my bag, allowing me the freedom to do my run to the Hero.
Ironically but also hysterically, among all the hectic pre-airport outfit prep, I had attempted to squeeze my size 10 self into an eight, (to prove the chicken kormas and Dominos that I rely upon in UH’s absence hadn’t left a legacy), got into the car (in a rush; I had to fix the smudge of my silver liquid liner) and heard an almighty rip. I was in the middle of the street yelping at Oracle “Can you see cheek, can you see cheek?!” The rip perfectly perforated the seam, but, according to Oracle, not so much so that you could, in fact, see any cheek: “Mate, no mate, you are cool, cool mate, it looks sexy”. I wasn’t convinced, but with the clock ticking there wasn’t time to change and I was too frazzled to intelligently select a back-up choice, so trusting Oracle, my size 10 self drove to Heathrow in a brilliantly sexy but ripped and tightly fitted size eight dress.
Oracle convinced me to take the ‘shortcut’ to Heathrow, and well, since he is the Oracle, I happily went with it. His oracle status radically declined, though, as we hit every single set of traffic lights. By the time I got to the airport I was in meltdown. The last time I went to pick UH up I smashed the left mirror of UH’s car on a bus, I was so anxious to get to Heathrow. (The smart move I made was telling him immediately, as he was so happy to be home he couldn’t get angry about it; after all, it is just a mirror.) This trip I had Oracle making me promise to keep him up to date about Britain’s Next Top Model and Four Weddings, so his pleas kept me distracted enough not to scrape against any other vehicles.
On the way from Basrah to London, UH and our machine of a best man had just spent three days in Jordan, where they drank a lot, and no doubt started plotting their plans for the stag do in Vegas. I had read about brides getting their BMs to sign contracts about what they were allowed and not allowed to do to the groom. I just want him to have his eyebrows. I am a little more on edge as I know as a navy brat myself the things those boys do to each other. My mum once told me of a stag do in Sydney, where the navy boys blindfolded the groom, placed him in a coffin and nailed it shut. Now that is the stuff nightmares are made of. It gives me shivers just thinking about it. What is worse is they put the coffin on the motorway.
Now, our BM is a man of class and sophistication, and would never do that to my Hero. I have spoken to BM on the phone about this already and he promises to not touch the Hero’s eyebrows; but he will do some hideous things to him and save the announcements for his best man speech! By then it won’t matter though – as long as UH pitches up to the cathedral with eyebrows – and I could never deny BM the pleasure; he has been waiting to do this to UH for years after all.
So there I was, about to combust with excitement, bag and Blackberry safely with the Oracle, eyes glued to the doors, glossed, well hydrated, dying for the Hero to show up. And UH didn’t disappoint. He was browner than brown, still in his desert gear, with the most perfect amount of facial hair, and was smiling even before the doors opened.
I ran. I ran like the wind brides. Much to the delight of many of the revellers of terminal one (who doesn’t love to see a couple in love?), I launched myself at him and squealed with excitement. As much as you don’t want to think about it, UH doesn’t have that name for nothing. He is in a high-risk environment, putting his life on the line every day; I make no apologies for my squealing as soon as I clap eyes on him. How a man can look that good after eight weeks on a US military base with a Burger King in a shipping container his only luxury, I will never know.
So after the craziness of UH arriving home, we need to get back to the jobs at hand:
- 2. Hymns for the choir to sing
- 3. Ordering the material for the bridesmaids’ dresses
- 4. And the epic job of booking hotel rooms for about 60 guests (UH’s job, not mine, thankfully!)
But right now, I am just going to revel in the fact that my man is home.
Till next week
Read Katie’s wedding diary week 1 here.
Read Katie’s wedding diary week 2 here.
Read Katie’s wedding diary week 3 here.
Read Katie’s wedding diary week 4 here.
Read Katie’s wedding diary week 5 here.
Read Katie’s wedding diary week 6 here.