13May2025
Dear Diary,
Yesterday I was reminded how fickle fortunes can be at a wedding. My old university mate, Ethel, never sent a single pound toward my own nuptials, yet this week she sent me a gilded invitation to her forthcoming ceremony.
Ethel and Thomas tied the knot a year ago. Their parents, both from modest towns in the Midlands, arranged a lavish affair. As the only offspring of their families, the grandparents insisted the celebration be nothing short of spectacular. When the couple suggested a modest gathering with a simple barbecue after the vows, the mothers dismissed the idea outright; theyd always dreamed of a white dress, a grand reception and even a horsedrawn carriage.
Realising a proper reception was unavoidable, the pair set about organising every detail. There were endless tasks: manicures, makeup, selecting the brides gown and the grooms morning suit, and a host of other necessities. The parents agreed to foot the bill for everything except the brides dress and the grooms tuxedo. They booked the finest restaurant in London The Savoy chose a bouquet of English roses for Ethel, and arranged for Thomass mothers sister, a seasoned baker, to craft the wedding cake.
A meticulous guest list was compiled, aiming to include every relative, even those long out of touch. The rationale given by the elders was that wealthy guests would bring generous gifts, which could be put toward a car or a house deposit. After a lengthy debate, they decided to omit distant cousins. Some relatives withdrew politely, offering plausible excuses. In the end, the list was dominated by the couples close friends, just as they had hoped.
On the morning of the ceremony the weather was glorious, despite forecasts of a drizzle. Ethel looked radiant in a silk gown trimmed with delicate lace. Thomass bride, a vision of grace, held his gaze the entire day. The photographer, ever eager to justify his fee, snapped away with relentless enthusiasm, and the guests buzzed with anticipation for the banquet.
When the photo session concluded, the newlyweds climbed into a pristine white carriage and were driven to the restaurant. Champagne flowed like a river and congratulations were shouted over the clinking glasses. Envelopes of cash were presented in abundance; the couple had made it clear they preferred monetary gifts. A few elderly guests, however, could not resist and offered blankets, bedding and fine china instead.
The threetiered cake, adorned with luxurious icing, edible flowers and pearllike sugar decorations, impressed even the most discerning palate. The reception was elegant, and only in the early hours did weary guests begin to drift home, while the bride and groom retired to a prebooked hotel suite.
The following morning, when Thomass mother told Ethel that one of the envelopes was empty, the truth emerged swiftly. The missing envelope had been a gift from their close friend, Grace, but unlike the others it bore no name. Ethel felt a surge of disgust. To make matters worse, before the wedding Grace had swore that no one should give less than a thousand pounds and had promised to support the couple financially.
Barely a year later Grace found herself in the brides seat and promptly invited Ethel and her husband to her own wedding. She immediately reminded her friend that she expected a contribution, hoping the cash would help cover the expenses. Ethel was at a loss. She suggested that her husband should hand over an empty envelope, mirroring Graces earlier trick. He proposed giving a larger sum to embarrass Grace, while Thomass mother advised Ethel to slip in only the minimum amount, thus keeping her silence about the previous deceit and preserving any chance of future peace.
Now, with Graces big day looming, I am torn between returning the favour or letting the past lie. I realize that holding onto grudges only weighs you down, and that generositywhether given or receivedshould be guided by kindness, not retaliation.
Lesson learned: it is far wiser to give freely and forget the debt than to keep tallying scores.
