Kevin Page: Blokes just don’t see what all the fuss is about

Everything went swimmingly until it was time for the wedding photos to be taken. Photo / 123rf

OPINION

I have a feeling the ladies among our readership will know exactly what I’m on about this week.

Unfortunately, it is highly likely us blokes won’t see what all the fuss is about. I must admit until last Sunday I’d probably have had to include myself, too, in that sector.

Let me explain.

This is about those times when you go out in your best bib and tucker and discover some other individual has chosen exactly the same outfit for their night out.

Now, if you’re a bloke chances are you’ll tackle it head on, have a good old laugh about it with the other party, and probably go have a beer. At least that’s what I thought you’d do.

But if you are of the fairer persuasion you may opt for a geographical solution. Essentially, what this means is you’ll try to put as much distance as you can between yourself and the other party.

To back up this belief, I shall recount the tale of two weddings I have attended in the 21,606 days since I arrived on Earth from the planet Womb.

Way, way back in the late Swingin’ 60s, an uncle decided to put a ring on the finger of his long-time girlfriend.

As he was the last of my grandparents’ four children to marry, it was a safe bet all the traditional stops would be pulled out, from the wedding ceremony to the formal reception, and then the good, old-fashioned Londoner “knees up” following that.

Naturally, we kids were suitably attired — I recall it being the first time I’d ever worn a tie. I was so proud I wore it to bed over my pyjamas — and our mums all got new outfits.

I recall in the weeks leading up to the big day all the ladies sitting around yakking about what they were going to wear. I realise now this was probably a discreet way of letting the other women know what not to wear so they didn’t clash.

Unfortunately, the message didn’t get through to Aunty No. 2, and on the day she turned up in exactly the same outfit as Aunty No. 3. The look of horror from both is something I recall to this day. Fondly, it has to be said. They were both lovely, fun ladies. Sadly gone now.

I have a vague recollection of a cousin laughing and loudly pointing out the situation (there’s always one isn’t there?) as we entered the church while an uncle tried to “entice” him into silence with the promise of a bottle of lemonade if he shut his trap or a cuff round the lughole (ear) if he didn’t.

Anyway.

Everything went swimmingly until it was time for the pictures, and try as the photographer might he couldn’t get the two aunties to stand close together.

The situation was resolved as best as it could be by a chivalrous uncle who handed over his suit jacket as cover for one of the affected parties.

Consequently, my uncle’s wedding photos feature the entire family bookended by two aunties. One wearing a very fetching blue dress and the other wearing a man’s brown suit jacket with long arms and three sizes too big for her.

Somewhere in the photo, there is also an uncle in shirt sleeves looking less than impressed.

Fast forward 20 years or so and I’m at another wedding. This time in Godzone and exactly the same thing has occurred.

It’s a relatively informal occasion held at the height of summer, and this time the two concerned parties are in matching green dresses.

Unfortunately, it’s sweltering so there is no jacket-wearing uncle to save the day. Instead, the two opt for the aforementioned geographical solution and keep well away from each other at the after-match mingle.

Interestingly, there’s a sort of telepathic messaging system going on and as one moves on from her five-minute chat with the bride, the other glides in seamlessly.

There is also no need for a chat prior to the traditional family photo to work out who is going where. Both manage to hide behind partners and/or guests who are, shall we say, generous of frame. The final photograph shows the heads of two beaming ladies peering out from within the crowd. Not an inch of green dress can be seen on either.

Now I’d always thought the way these ladies dealt with it was all a bit silly. I mean, it’s a coincidence — an unfortunate one granted — but nothing to feel uncomfortable about. Is it?

Well, it seems in some cases it is.

Take me the other Sunday for example. It’s early morning and I’m awake before the first rays of light have caressed the face of Sleeping Beauty next to me.

But I’m wide awake. I know. I’ll go get the groceries from the supermarket then we can spend the day doing something else. I’ll be outside the minute they open. Good plan.

So, before my morning cuppa has made its way all the way down to my bladder causing a delay to my departure, I’m wandering the aisles and moaning about the prices like a professional.

Because I dashed out quickly I grabbed my Old Faithful sweatshirt to wear. It’s brown and green and has become carefully moulded to my shape over the years. It has seen better days, I’ll admit, but as I’ve told Mrs P it’s not time to say goodbye just yet — and won’t be for another five years if I have my way but don’t tell her that.

Anyway. There I am in the supermarket and a bloke comes in wearing exactly the same sweatshirt.

So, unlike any of the wedding guests I have already mentioned, I tackle the issue head on and go “Snap” as we cross paths. The guy laughs and we continue on our merry way.

Unfortunately, that means we cross continuously as we shop. Up and down the aisles. Other shoppers start to notice. Some kids actually laugh at us as we stand side by side in the vegetable section — presumably both totally confused and outraged at the price of broccoli and pumpkin.

Eventually, I steal a break on my new mate and do the checkout thing and get out of there as fast as I can. I have to admit I was feeling a little embarrassed. Not sure if it was the old sweatshirt or the fact we looked like identical twins.

I decided to calm myself with a cup of goodness from my fave BP Wild Bean.

My coffee order in, I take my place in the “mosh pit” where everybody mills around waiting for their beverage.

As I stand there, I get a glimpse of a familiar sweatshirt out of the corner of my eye and my shopping mate appears. He’s about to enter when he spots me, abruptly turns on his heel, goes back to his car and drives off.

I’m relieved he chose not to come in and stand next to me.

I’m also wondering if he might have had a wedding to go to and was just checking I wasn’t going to be there to clash.