Getting married, ladies and gentlemen, is fucking hard work.

First our caterer for Saturday dumps us. Us?! Just like that! The wanker! (We found someone else though, after some serious stressing. Ha!)
Then the caterer we'd decided on for Friday seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. Doesn't respond to emails and the number on his website is out of order.

Seriously, it's as if these guys don't want to help two überhot lesbians on their wedding day.

We do have wedding rings after being judged from head to toe by a snooty jeweller's assistant (20-something girl, with her fashionable blue shirt tucked in her skintight white jeans, staring down her nose at us: sandals, shorts/skirt and sleeveless tops) - thankfully her colleague was a lot more down to earth and friendly.
In a big shocker the jeweller told us we were "early" for our rings.
Go us!
Of course then my colleague tells me "of course, rings are usually the last thing people have to look for"...

Still to do: find something to wear (note to self: go shopping with my witness, despite how much she'll make me try on. Drag The Girlfriend The Fiancee along with us, or she'll get married in whatever's not in the laundry that day), get a caterer for the bloody stupid family-thing, try to find out if the rumours about brother-in-laws bankrupcy are true (we're planning to have our reception in his pub, so he'd better still be open), sort out the invitations, beg for certain people's co-operation for the party, sign the contract for the party venue (been lying on my desk for weeks now) and *officially* declare our wedding at city hall.
Oh, and about a million other things.

Still fun though, this getting married business.