Good news, guys! I didn’t go to my Mom’s wedding as a harlot. Although, now that I look back at it, it would have been more fun if I would have.The much awaited (not really, but) wedding took place on the 22nd. Finally. Thank Christ. Thank the Lord. Thank Buddha.
Not that I actually cared. That much. You see, StepDad has been living with us for over a month now, anyway.
Shit like this doesn’t happen in Pakistan. You just can’t live together if you’re not married. And here they are, sleeping in the same bed.
But it’s totally fine. They can be as bad ass as they want. But it’s a sin for me to even consider moving abroad because I might end up with a foreigner.
If there’s one thing they don’t need to worry about, it’s my love life. Thanks to them, I’m emotionally bruised enough to not let myself fall for anyone.
I got my hair curled at a salon for the event. Not by my Nan’s hairdresser though. This girl was skinnier than fuck and had the ugly balls to tell me to switch to a better, healthier diet. She just won’t stop with her suggestions.
“Are you going to charge extra for the suggestions?“, I said.
Now that I look back, it probably wasn’t the best decision. I mean, she was the one with the extremely hot curling iron in her hand. But meh.
It’s safe to say that the gown turned out exactly how I wanted it to be. I didn’t look better than the bride but at least I was the second best. Okay, maybe third.
I will always hate weddings. I hate them so passionately that it is impossible for me to un-hate them.
I can never understand marriage. What’s the point of committing to live with someone and then commit to turning them into a your idea of them? Such people are better off with sex dolls.
The wedding was a bore, though. Not to mention a complete taco-fest/pussy-fest. There wasn’t ONE single, young man to flirt with. I mean, c’mon!
Despite promising myself to be a wonderful hostess that night (because that IS what I do for a living), I failed. Big time. The realization hit me after approaching the venue: OH MY GOD I’M AT MY MOM’S SECOND WEDDING!
Was I supposed to explain to the guests how my mom’s first marriage had crumbled? How it had come to this? Should I pretend to be angry? Should I justify this?
So much for being a pleasant hostess.
The Malai Boti in the menu was absolutely delicious. I urged everyone to take it.
Only, it wasn’t Malai Boti at all; it was Tikka Boti. Usually at Pakistani weddings, the food is too oily that one sip from your soda can gives you a weird feeling in your throat. Guess what? The food wasn’t oily. At all.
……Yeah, I know you’re waiting for a pun but I swear, the food was great.
No one got a bad throat because of oily food. There was no crying or fights about how my mom had hogged a rich man or how he had charmed her into marrying him. No one slapped anyone else. It was a very nice, very boring wedding.
The bride and the groom are soon off to Singapore/Thailand/some fucking place in Far East for their honeymoon.
Lovely. I don’t feel like varminting. AT ALL.
While they are gone, I’ll be in charge of this humble abode. I believe getting married clouds your judgement. Because just a few weeks ago, I wasn’t old enough to move abroad. But I’m totally capable of running a house by myself. Totally.
Maybe it’s a parent thing. Or maybe it’s just a Pakistani parent thing.
Has any of your parents remarried? What’s the most boring wedding you have been to? Do your parents getting all touchy feely with each other makes you wanna varmint sometime? I need to hear you.