Thankyou for the referral. It wasn’t our wedding night, it was at our wedding breakfast. Fortunately I can be quite the actor when I need to be, so I was able to hold up a perfectly reasonable conversation with my husband, all while fighting my garter off - he still can’t believe I did it!
The funny one from our wedding night was his boxers.
There’s some backstory to this because my husband is “multi-national” (in a British sense) - he is 50% English, 25% Welsh and 25% Scottish. So the story goes, not long after we started formally dating I wrote in my diary that he was “50% English gentleman, 25% Welsh sheep (he has very curly hair!), 25% Scottish beast and 100% SEX GOD1!”. I forgot all about it until he helped me pack to move and accidentally read some of my diary, including, embarassingly, that page. He tormented me about it for a bit and life moved on, or so I thought.
On our wedding night, I got out of my dress and was somewhere in between that post-wedding state of “thank heavens that’s over” and also knowing what comes next. My husband and I aren’t always the most romantic, but I knew he would want our wedding night to be special and so I was trying to follow his lead. So, I’m trying to find my footing in this slightly awkward dance when I noticed it: there, on his boxers, were the words “sex god”. He was oh so proud of himself!
Your after-after party story made me laugh; we wives and newlyweds have a tendency to want to keep our gifts firmly wrapped until we can get them home.
I’m sorry to hear that you don’t have a great relationship with your brother, either. I try to get along with mine, but, we don’t - he has a sense of entitlement towards me and a belief that he can talk over me, that he knows better than me (and all this in spite of once openly admitting that he is jealous of me). The really funny thing is my mother thought he would be the first to fly the nest, and I would be the one who struggled. I got my first home at 24, married at 27 and started my my blog at 34, I’m also quite popular just for being myself. My brother, meanwhile, is 34, still living at home, unemployed, single, and tries too hard to be liked. My Mum often wonders why he can’t get a job or a girlfriend, and I don’t know that I have it in my heart to tell her that she’s raised a golden child “narcissist”.