My professional career as a wedding attender came to an abrupt end a few years ago. I didn’t drop the career voluntarily. It was just too much to handle, and the career suffered a painful demise from my weekend activities.
I had gathered a lot of useful but incriminating information on weddings. I had spent cold nights analysing the information and coming up with reasonable conclusions.
At the end of the study period, I concluded that weddings are entertainment joints where the bride and groom play to the gallery.
I concluded that I did not want to be part of the gallery going forward, and with good reasons.
In every wedding that I have attended, the gifting session is always done in a crisis mode.
The DJ, half the time a vernacular speaking guy with jokes as dry as my armpits will be heard beseeching the gift givers to take their gifts to an obscure tent located some two kilometers away from the venue.
Those who insist on personally presenting their gifts to the newlyweds shall be harassed to take three seconds each.
They always defy that directive and end up taking photos and hugging the couple, much to the chagrin of the DJ. But how else will the couple ever know that you took time off your busy schedule to attend this important ceremony.
HARRASED WITH BORING SPEECHES
After we have been harassed with boring speeches from uncles and aunts who represent the bride and grooms family, it is finally time to taste the cake. The cake is several storeys high, with very little wheat flour and tons of icing cake.
The cake cutting session is facilitated by a hefty woman in thick makeup. She is allowed to continue talking until midnight as the she breaks into random songs in the middle of her unbearable speech.
At some point she will teach the bride how to be serving her man food into the mouth using a fork.
The groom is forced to sit on a low stool as the bride picks a piece of cake as big as a boulder.
She then proceeds to stuff the ridiculously big piece of cake into the grooms mouth as ululations fill the field. Everyone seems excited by this newly introduced method of feeding a man. It suddenly looks like a new stains removal trick.
The lady facilitating the cutting of cake, or the cake matron as she is glorified tells the bride that the style of feeding the husband should be the new normal. Everyone nods in agreement.
The bride is then handed a glass of juice and she is supposed to ask the groom if he is choking on the cake. Regardless of the answer, she continues to help him take the glass of juice into his mouth.
He seems overwhelmed by this random act of generosity, and he is heard thanking his sweetheart profusely for saving him from dying of thirst.
There is more drama where the bride is shown how to carry a kiondo on her back, balance a pot on her head, winnow maize and pound food with a wooden pestle.
The groom on the other hand sits through the whole education process, nobody is there to teach him how to change a tyre or fix a broken bulb. It is probably assumed that he learned these things before the wedding day and he should therefore be spared some of those mundane activities.
Everyone seems to be keen on teaching the bride additional new skills, including how to answer to her man if he calls from the locked bathroom.
If I were ever to do wedding the gift session would take eighteen hours and extend into the following Monday to allow people go milk their cows and bring the milk.
The working class would also get enough time to see their HR managers for salary advances for my gift envelopes.
The cake cutting session would be held behind a tiny tent hidden behind the bushes and take precisely 3 minutes. I would instruct the many security men and women securing the wedding from intruders to keep the cake matron a minimum of five kilometres from the venue.
More conveniently, they should arrange for her to be kidnapped on Friday night and only released on Monday after the wedding dust has settled.
I would issue stern instructions to the bridesmaids to keep 90% of the cake in one of the many fridges given as gifts for my future strategic food reserves.
I always tend to have my priorities right.