I was about 15 when I discovered I’m a wedding crier. I was on holiday in Cyprus with a friend. A lot of her family lived there, and we were invited to the wedding of one of her distant cousins. I’d never met the couple (I’m not even sure my friend had) but – and maybe this had something to do with the intense drama of the Greek Orthodox ceremony – I found myself choking up. People I didn’t know were getting married in a language I didn’t understand, and there I was, suddenly so emotionally invested in the whole situation I was holding back genuine tears.
It’s almost as if we’re primed to cry at weddings. As far as life achievements go, legally binding yourself to another person seems fairly middling. It’s hardly swimming the Channel or completing Candy Crush, and although nice, it’s far from remarkable. But from an early age, girls in particular are prompted to envision their wedding days as the Biggest Possible Deal; the one thing that means you’ve well and truly made it. I never did. Although if I’d known it was possible to not only marry another woman, but to do so while not wearing a dress, I may have fantasised about my perfect wedding.