And it's not that I'm not happy for the couple, cause on most times than not, I have no freaking idea of who they are.
I'm there cause of the parents we are invited, so my ass gets hauled into my best clothes and clownface slap and off we go to a hall to see running-on-sugar children and fat cows in skinny dresses.
But I hate weddings for other reasons, but one of them is particularly embarrassing.
My parents like to think themselves as prize breeders; we are their human trophies in need of a partner trophy to sit with in the family cabinet. But they get to pick the prize and we just get our cake and eat it (if we like it, of course!)
Yes, I am talking in euphemisms about marital match-making, in case you didn't pick it up.
The cringe humour and sadism are results from having disappointing films to watch each Xmas and spying on drunk people outside my house at 2am.
So anyway, the mama-papa team begin their scouting. They look around the hall, they meet and greet old and recent friends, they stare over at their foes' table and whisper cautiously a little gossip, and then they begin to discreetly search for the 'others' whilst the dinner is served/finished.
Most evenings they come back chuffed on fluffy compliments, for example:
"Oh, such pretty children you have, oh look especially at Rosie so pretty oh MashAllah" *spit on face to rid me of beauty curses*
Yeah. That does happen to ME. I get spat on for being alright looking, jheez.
So after the spittle is wiped off and a little banter is conversed, they may exchange numbers and emails, then leave. Secretly, I believe that in my dads head, his brain is knuckle-bumping the inside of his skull with victory.
It means one thing when dad mutters the littlest praise to us kids. That means they've scored for us and we might be having a strange family over for dinner to examine and interrogate us. Damnit.
But as moods dance up and down with excitement and possibilities then gossip emits from them on the drive home about the bad hospitality or what the sister-in-law had mouthed off about to the caterer, they're just overjoyed mainly on the part that we behaved and that they're one step closer to getting rid of us.
The seemingly important people at any wedding; if they're impressed by the prize pugs acting like prissy poodles, it means they want relations. They wanna get with. Have some marital ones. SHIT.
When I was younger I used to start the whining and moaning pretty early, but now I easily recognise that nobody is paying attention to me. I thank the Lord for iPhones. Distraction heaven.
Sometimes I feel bad for the suckers up on the stage all prim and proper and getting married, knowing that they're not the only ones tied in holy matrimony. The two families also get chained in.
The mammy jee the baba jee the massi jee and soap-opera grouch sister-in-law who wanted the bride to get hitched in a hut in Pakistan to a sleazy baller moustache man.
Here is an example of
So now you know how it happens, the whole marriage shuh-bang if you go through your rents. For some lesser-minded people who don't really understand their child's idea of happiness, they've already promised their hands over to some village idiot back in the gorgeous cow patty lands of Pakistan.
But never mind, they make it work in the end... council benefits, ennit? Talk about winding the EDL up about immigrants, psssht.
Please, I mean no offence towards marriages to fresh street mongrels of Islamabad or goat grabbing fielders from Kashmir ("because my description for them isn't offensive at all, just truthful(?)"), for I admire the strength of both the married men and women for putting up with nonsense from their oversea in-laws. The whole land disputes, and the "When's the money coming, where's the MONEY!?" conversation.
But as someone who is currently studying at degree level, I have a little more expectations in life than for it to just turn out to be that I become a fussy militant multi-child holding squib of a housewife *shudder*
OR WORSE, THIS:
******
Most friends I know have had previous relations with other Muslims, and it's was all a little alien to me because I was brought up to be told it was wrong and shit, I never realised half the girls in college had boyfriends.
I'm glad I missed out on the pissy trend of getting all excited over a boy talking to them flirtatiously and being heckled by spotty-as-feck boys for having a 2 hour fling in the car park with one of their homies, a short squat Bengali boy that all the 'peng as dog shit is delicious' girls fancied.
His spiked up hair compensated for the final inch on his height, overall being 5 foot. Girls back then had short standards, if you'll pardon the pun.
I get to uni and the games are bigger and nastier, all of them are at it, even the ugly ones. They're chasing game and wanna grab it in the their mouths and take it home to the rents; it's their partner prize trophy but it's all tattered and broken and clearly, rejected. That's what a tarnished reputation looks like when they've let it off the lead and given to false losers and dishonourable faggets.
Uni sometimes is known to most for studying for 2 hours then dossing like a mad hatter in clubs for the other 22 of the day, but for Asians it's match-making heaven.
Most uni-made couples get passed the GO sign and get married, and some get really unlucky and don't. That's mainly because the families don't approve. So in the end of the day, you can find yourself someone whose as educated and from as a good respectable family and that you get to know them before you go straight into the whole matrimony thing.
The game got boring for me early in, I stopped paying attention to guys around me as much. I wasn't getting any good ones anyway, most were a bunch of farts who were looking to get their sleaze on. Farts and sleaze is what I get up in the morning for, in journalistic terms, yes, in choice of men, oh no no no, HELL to the NO.
I would never know whether I gave false hope to fatties, hairies, dopeys, drunkies, gym junksters whenever I glanced at them as I whipped of my hijab back and probably blinked a couple of unintentional winks if I poked my eye with a stubby finger.
Sometimes we'd do silly girly stuff for a cheap laugh, and doesn't mean it was right. I knew there were consequences. I knew where the line was, and if I hadn't a good company for friends to console and advise, I would've crossed it by now, blindly as when the production crew for the 1997 Batman film didn't really think out the nipples on the costume so well.
So now that you know how the Perkinstankis roll... I must leave this confuzzling shizzle on a less lethal bizzle, ya know wannam sayin'?
Let's leave this shit on a positive note, in good English, folks.
I AM Pakistani, and I AM proud, and I understand my way of life as a Muslim and I intend to follow it out through my last breath on the earth. But the guy I finish it with cannot be an asshole. I may kill him. With puns. Many of them.
Aaaooh , goodnight my pug-faced friends - don't judge, don't hate, just really really appreciate and masticate ...your dinner.
At least 20 times, that's the average the doctors ask you for each swallow. Hope this information isn't misleading at all. Eeps. Um, bye.
*run out of room avoiding all accusations of sexually inappropriateness and/or perverse nature*
