Happy Nuptials!

Two of my most favourite* people in the world got married on the weekend. Yep, former tennis world number one Lleyton Hewitt and “Actor” Bec Cartwright got hitched.

The blushing bride’s ode to her beau leaves a lot to be desired, but let’s face it… she isn’t well known for her ability with the written word.

Anyone who can rhyme "2004" and the word “call” deserves a gift in my eyes**

Yet this is still indicative of how stupid our newspapers are. If someone prominent decides to get all creative and jot down whatever has blown through their tumbleweed infested head, it makes the “breaking news” segment of the paper.

As I mentioned to a friend of mine today, if she ever manages to release a book containing her “work”, I will most likely top myself***

Frankly, nothing much surprises me these days. I’m still waiting for the official autobiography for Lleyton, outlining how a little brat from West Lakes who delights in being rowdy at local supermarkets with his Adelaide Crow superstar mate, and brags about owning a Ferrari manages to claw his way to the top of the game whilst nailing a local soapie star.

It will probably be penned by the ol’ ball and chain, too, with very little reference to Lleyton’s former partner, and identical twin, Kim Clijsters.

But maybe… just maybe I’m being a little harsh upon the newlyweds. This is a time of celebration for them. They are forging out on a new path together, one of beauty, rolling hills, lush fields and white cropped mountains just begging to be explored.

They should be thankful for each other.

The fathers and mothers of the bride and groom should be thankful that their offspring found something that will be fruitful, both for their finances and their careers.

The bridal party should be thankful that they’ve taken part in an exclusive and momentous occasion that many have dubbed the “Wedding of the Year”, and that - because of the import of the bride and groom - they got to have the Sydney Opera House to themselves.

And the guests should be thankful that at least Cartwright didn’t sing…

*read: actually, quite not my favourite. I was being sarcastic.
** read: Well, a gift in an eye. A black eye. For Bec… oh wait, she already had one at Wimbledon.
***Well, I probably won’t. It’s not worth dying over.