If anybody asks me if I were getting married soon (like soon) one more time, I think I will scream and then simultaneously explode, hereby shattering the other party into tiny little pieces.
Surely, I jest.
Wedding dinners are the bane of every person in the world except the married couple. Hopefully. I attended my paternal cousin’s funky buffet dinner and was besieged by a mob of concerned aunties and uncles. For the entire duration of my dinner, a steady stream of relatives plopped themselves into the seat across me, left empty because of my sister’s absence, and held conversations that sounded suspiciously similar.
Sixth Uncle: (getting into the seat across me) So, I hear you are getting married.
Me: Why is it that I do not know I am getting married and you do?
Sixth Aunt: (getting into the seat across me) Hey, I hear that it’s your turn next!
Me: No, since when?
Seventh Uncle: (getting into the seat across me) You know, I was the officiator for the solemnisation of this cousin, and this cousin and that cousin. Why, I will be presiding over my own son’s wedding next month. And, I hear, the next one is you.
Me: If you want to wait a few more years, sure.
Second Aunt: (getting into the seat across me) What, are you getting married?
Me: Probably when I strike the lottery.
Seventh Aunt: (getting into the seat across me) Don’t congratulate me, I should be congratulating you. I hear you are getting married!
At the end of the evening, I still had no idea who the source of the rumours is. I have a feeling she is sleeping in the room next to mine.
And then while arranging for a drinks sesh for Friday, I texted a friend to tell him I am interested in checking out One Rochester. He asked me why, and I replied that I have wanting to go there for a while. And his answer?
“Oh, I thought you wanted to check it out for wedding plans.”