Weddings suck! I don’t know who is going to do me the favor to appear at my wedding in my place, seriously. I have been watching this weddings program on television and it all boils down to one thing – weddings are there to satisfy women’s egos and empty men’s pockets (I can hear the feminists going for my neck – look my only crime is am just a man!). Imagine, the idea of me, a man, going through an excruciatingly painful six months process.
Weddings suck! I don’t know who is going to do me the favor to appear at my wedding in my place, seriously. I have been watching this weddings program on television and it all boils down to one thing – weddings are there to satisfy women’s egos and empty men’s pockets (I can hear the feminists going for my neck – look my only crime is am just a man!).
Imagine, the idea of me, a man, going through an excruciatingly painful six months process.
"Darling, which color will the table mat of the cake table be? What about the color of the peg boys’ shoes, not forgetting, the rehearsal of the heavily edited how-we-met story, obviously leaving out the less pleasant details like how we fell in love at first sight when we were both high.
Not that I do not fancy the idea. It would be nice to force my ugly surname onto someone’s cute first name for the rest of their lives, the idea of all my buddies getting to have to drink all night at the stag party, the reception and the opportunity to really wear a nice suit and tie and get a picture taken of you, at least for your casket when the fellow upstairs decides to call off your time on earth and send you to kingdom come.
Unless if you are politician and you have to every once in a while wear a suit and beg people so that you can get an opportunity to work for them, the chance to get a portrait of you, your eyes peering at nobody, pretending that you have charisma is lets say, about nil.
Anyway, let’s just say the law of the land, together with the Ten Commandments insist that you must drag someone’s daughter along an aisle while she is wearing a very uncomfortably long, sweaty and heavy dress behind her (for what reason?) then take her in front of a priest, who for good measure is usually unmarried, hence ‘lacks experience’ and swear allegiance in times of sickness and poverty, which sometimes is not usually the case.
Am not saying that I intend to cheat, though am not sure if she will leave me when my Mercedes Benz is grounded because I got fired.
What am trying to say is, I am told money is one of the biggest aphrodisiacs and as you well know, money is not a constant factor in life unless if you are Prince William, of course.
Also, there is this chic (I don’t mean a young chicken, in our days, a nice cute thing, sorry gal, no- girl used to like being called a chic, so do not count that on me) I met in primary five, we fell in love, shared all the steamed potatoes her parents gave her for break time, and we actually kissed.
What do you call sharing a potato, mouth to mouth? The point is, I recently bumped onto her on Facebook and she is talking about coming over to visit with her new white fiancée.
What am really trying to say is I love my fiancée but look, I fell in love in primary five and that should not really hurt anyone so am saying, may be we should say these vows after my primary five friend has visited, because, you know these things.
But on second thoughts I might just decide to go through with this thing the wedding after all. The white guy has a chest six times bigger than mine and you understand that I can not risk my life, even for my primary five friend.
Anyway, why am I even telling you all this? I plan to meet my fiancée this year when I go to South Africa for the world cup.
The thing I liked about her is the cute back of her neck, and the fact that her dream lover in Enrique Iglesias and dream husband is Bill Gates.
In fact, am starting up an airtime selling business and hope that it will become as big as Microsoft soon. Her picture in the fashion magazine said she stays in Johannesburg, and woo her in record time, propose.
Then I hope that I would have made enough money to graduate from my two-bedroomed shack to a mansion in Nyarutama, and a Mercedes Benz S class. The Lotto guys say it is possible.
The magazine also said it was her dream car, and then God willing, again; I will be able to afford a wedding on a Caribbean island.
The magazine finally said that was a dream wedding destination. Then I can hope to pay two air tickets for my primary five friend from Nigeria, with his wrestler boyfriend.
You know I told her am the Mayor of Kigali so such a thing would be easy, only that my diary is booked for two years, so I would perhaps be able to host her boyfriend and her in 2012.
Anyway, on second thoughts I think I should give up this wedding idea. Why should I spend my hard earned money feeding mouths of ungrateful gate crashers for no reason?
Is it not me who should be glad I got someone to cook for me, not everybody else? Please, I think I should call off this wedding thing. What do you think?