I know that you all are dying to hear about my cousin wedding. First, I tried on one of my mom's saris. To her credit she did pick a beautiful black one out for me; she is my mother after all. Well, the blouse was too big (big hooters mom) and since a sari really depends upon the fittedness of the blouse (the rest having a drapey curtain-like effect), I looked pretty silly. So I ended up wearing my Michael Kors shirt and a tiered skirt and 3-inch heels, same old coconut girl. Brown on the outside, white...I hate that, I shouldn't perpetuate that racist shit. Total of three 'so, when are you getting married?' inquisitions (not including my own parents). By the end of the night I decided to have fun with it . One 'auntie' said, "I'll get you married" and tried to drag me out to the dancefloor for the dance part of my wife audition, I assume. Actually, I had already had a few watered-down drinks by that point (not enough, not nearly enough. I don't blame them for watering down the drinks, I saw that pitiful tip jar) and of course, alcohol+yasmin's blood+any music other than house music=painful urge to dance, so I ended up dancing for about 45 seconds to...Runaround Sue. Sigh. Another 'uncle' asked me when I was going to get married and I told him I was already married and walked away. He was a pervert, he deserved it. The worst/best moment was this horrible drunk Indian woman (Ever been to a wedding with a deserted open bar? To avoid the shame of actually getting a drink from the bar and having every woman in the room counting your drinks, some of the men went for the flask of Chivas in their jacket pocket option. Smart. But Indian women aren't supposed to drink at all, she was an anomaly...) accosting Liz' (bride) mom in the bathroom...here's how it went:


Dramatis Personae
Setting: Sheraton hotel bathroom
Drunk auntie (millionaire, so can act however she wants, D.A.M)
Bride''s mother, (blond-bobbed unwitting victim (B.B.U.V), she was actually wearing a powder-blue suit, poor dear)
Two women in the background, dressed in black, laughing hysterically, playing the role of the Chorus, manically washing cigarrette stink off their hands)

DAM: So, you finally got your daughter married. But she's the oldest, isn't she?
Chorus: (whispering) Oh no she didn't...
BBUV: Yes, she has two younger sisters. They're very happy for Liz. (trying to leave, DAM is holding on to her sleeve to continue the conversation)
DAM: Now you just have to get them married too. I have been married for 35 years with two grown children who are both doctors and they're both happily married with children. At least Liz finally got married. You better get Liz and Angus to give you a grandchild soon.
Chorus: (whispering) Her carrot-red dye job and sweet disposition must be the reason for the longevity of her marriage, she's absolutely irresistible...
BBUV: Well, they did just get married, we should give them some time.
DAM: Of course, of course. But they shouldn't wait too long.

Exeunt BBUV (running) and DAM (stumbling)

Chorus: (addressing the audience) Even though this was funny, it was also tragic. A good person/Chorus would have stepped in and tried to change the subject or lighten the mood. But knowing the nature of Indian mother on the prowl for an audience for a recitation of her children's accomplishments, whose joy is only ever fully realized when she can simultaneously inflate her own ego (has married doctor children) and deflate yours (unmarried, aging smoky girl with bare legs and no sari), the Chorus chose not to engage the predator for fear of bringing the full force of her velociraptor gaze upon themselves. It's every woman for herself in the land of the emasculated man and the determined mother. And you wonder why Indians almost had the world's first female prime minister (damn you, Siramavo Bandaranaike) ?


Scene

P.S.