“God Save the Queen”
Well Ladies and Gentlemen…
I’m back after a nice holiday in the UK, which was a most enjoyable time. Hopefully you lot didn’t miss me too much…but relax; I’m back with another install of my mis-adventures. I traveled to the UK because a good friend of mine was getting married. I had a wonderful time; it was good catching up with friends, drinking and laughing the night away. This brings me to this week subject matter - Weddings.
I’ve been to enough weddings this year that I lost count a while ago. No, I am not a wedding crasher; these are people I actually know. I may not particularly like all of them, but I do know them. Weddings lead to the unavoidable questions one asks oneself: When is so and so’s engagement date? Did you forget to put the check in the card? Why are we going to a wedding on a Sunday? Whose wedding is this again? Oh shit, did I sleep with that girl at a wedding last year?
My good friends, I would like to take a moment to explain the basic process of how I get sucked into attending all these weddings. You come home after a long day of work and Oh look, a wedding invitation. Of course you’re somewhat excited and you open it on the spot, not bothering to wait till you actually get into your home/condo, because you’re hoping that while you take the elevator back up to your condo someone might ask about this monstrosity of an invitation in your hand and that will give you some excuse to go into a tirade about Indian weddings for the 37 seconds you have in the elevator together. See, some of you folks may not know this, but when Indians get married the invitation that you get is very elaborate and huge. I mean sometimes it comes in a scroll, a tablet, a wooden box, but one thing is for sure my friends; there will ALWAYS be fucking glitter in that package; stuck on the card, the invitation and then of course inevitably it will get stuck on you.
Alright great, so “Raju” and “Shilpa” are getting married in 6 months time and they need you to RSVP, so what do you do? You put it on the coffee table and tell yourself that you’ll reply back later. Fast forward 5 months and “Shilpa” (because you know your boy “Raju” won’t do that shit) is yelling at you for not RSVPing to their wedding. Hell, they even put in a self address envelope because they knew you were a lazy fuck and would probably use that as an excuse as to why you didn’t send in a reply. Here we are months later and they are out the 42 cents for the stamp and you’re stuck sitting at a table with some weird strangers, all because you couldn’t check mark a box and send it back in a timely manner.
It’s almost all the same characters that are at the functions....
Character One: The Auntie. (Indians call everyone else’s parents Aunties and Uncles, unless of course you happen to be white, then we’ll just call them Bob and Marie) There is always an Auntie with botched up makeup and that perfume that all aunties put on. You know what I’m talking about, smells kind of like jasmine or teak; oh wait its called Nivea Cream. This lady is a nice and kind person, but man she won’t shut the fuck up about why you haven’t got married yet and haven’t settled down with a nice girl. My answer to this question that I always WANT to say is: “Auntie, I usually settle down with a nice girl at night, but somehow she always leaves in the morning.” Alas, I usually hold my tongue. She’ll inform me that she knows a nice girl for me and that it would be a great match. Yeah bitch, that’s really who I want to meet; some girl who I don’t know from some auntie I barely know, hmmm you think there’s a chance she’ll look like a sasquatch? Cause that would just make my day…
Character Two is kind of a combination who I lovingly like to call: “The Drunk Uncle”. This guy also has the dubious honor of being your dad’s old buddy for the last 30+ yrs. Avoid him at all cost. See, what he’ll do is corner you (usually near the bar) and go on and on about the shit he and your dad would do in the 70’s when they first came to America. How they discovered what a washer and dryer were for, how in 1977 he and my father were on the bus and he farted but blamed my father, when they first came to this country gas was 55 cents a gallon; blah blah blah blah. In addition, he’s pounding down the scotches like this the last night that alcohol will be served EVER, isn’t helping anyone out. Later on in the evening he transforms from “The Drunk Uncle” to “The Dancing Machine” and oh man does he just get down, but just in all the wrongs ways. Regardless, everyone has fun with him on the dance floor. Especially that one friend that you have, who watches way too many Indian movies and then starts dancing like he’s in an Indian movie. A round of applause for Bollywood.
Our final character is someone I call “Nowhere Girl” (or guy for the ladies). Who is this lady you ask? This is that same girl you run into at a lot of weddings and you get really flirty with her but in the end it just goes nowhere. I mean you’re drinking, you’re dancing, you get a little close, but the only reason you guys are hanging out is because it’s a wedding. You always say you guys should do something that week, but it just never pans out and then you’ll probably end up seeing her again at another wedding, until the two of you get fed up with this game and then it becomes awkward. Then you two end up not talking much at all. In the end, she just becomes someone you give a passing “hi” to at the reception.
This topic is big so I’ll be splitting this into two parts, the second part will continue next week.
Mr. I.P. Freely, K.C.V.O.