We were married in the evening so there was no time
to drive all the way to our exotic honeymoon flat in Nowra that night. So, instead, we
drove to Kings Cross and spent the first night of our married life in a cheap
hotel in the red-light district (arriving in a car exactly like this one).
Red and orange don’t go too well together, and
unfortunately at the time I got married I was going through an orange phase. I
went through various clothing colour phases in my youth, usually with the most
unlikely of colours. My previous colour phase was tan.
But I got married (at 21) during my orange phase. So
it was just as well that the actual wedding dress was borrowed from a younger
friend of my mothers who was not going through any particular colour phase at
the time she got married. I think I
would have been disqualified if I’d turned up at the alter wearing all-over
orange.
But my going-away outfit was all-over orange, as
all-over orange as any going-away – or staying put – outfit ever was, I expect,
and more than enough orange for one wedding. A loose-fitted long orange cotton
top and matching long orange cotton skirt, I wore, without shame or sense. One minute I was in all-over
white, the next all-over orange. The guests must have wondered:
Perhaps she can only wear one colour at a time.
Perhaps she’s colour blind.
Let’s hope he
is.
But no; we are neither of us colour-blind, my
husband nor I, but these days, with the wedding album a glaring reminder of my profound
colour confusion at that critical period of our lives, we both rather wish we were.
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