He's Pretty Fly For A White Guy...

Just back from a wedding. It was a fabulous! I was a bridesmaid and an utter vision in cappuccino. The horrid hens redeemed themselves by all being on their best, most outrageous drunken behaviour. The bride had ditched the 'liquid only, lose two stones in an hour' diet and looked stunning in sparkles and with the best 'up do' I'd seen in years. The speeches were short, the table plans were none existent (so you could actually sit with your mates instead of spending two hours trying to make polite conversation with strangers you are never going to see again) and to top it all there was a chocolate fountain with fresh strawberries...mmmm...

There was a lull in the night and not being ones to spend money at a bar (they were flabbergasted that shots cost £3), one of the girls from Oop North revealed she'd smuggled in her own bottle of vodka. So the one shot glass got passed around the table again, and again, and again, and again, and it definitely lifted the, erm, spirits.

Pretty soon there were shouts of 'BRIDESMAID DOWN!' after one fell over the best man and a husband (not mine) was prancing around on the dancefloor in a pair of the bridesmaids golden high heeled shoes that had been abandoned under a table, but that was nothing, the most shocking moment of all was when my husband discovered he had rhythm.

Yes, that's right, after not moving from his seat at the previous fifteen weddings we've been to, when he only ever passes over the dancefloor on his way to the Gents, my other half finally had his moment.

The DJ had offered up a tenner to the best dancer. The circle was formed, some girls were shaking their 'Sex And The City' dresses around, when there was an empty circle. In my husband went like a gladiator into the lion pit. My mouth was open wider than the Channel Tunnel. But then he span around, did a pretty impressive caterpillar impression, a few fancy break dancing moves and some brilliant footwork to a screaming and whooping crowd.

We have been together for over ten years and I never knew he had it in him. Whether it was the prospect of winning ten pounds, or the fact that his inhibitions had completely gone out of the window with the fifth pint and fourth shot, who knows? And while he didn't win the tenner, (it went to a girl in a red dress who shook her boobies about), I was chuffed that my man was pretty fly for a white guy...