Groom interrupted

Okay, the D-day is looming large, and in two months, I will no longer be single. Much as I love the man I am marrying, I am amused by the questions surrounding my impending wedding by all and sundry.
 
Here are a pick of the top ten frequently asked questions:

How does it feel?

Okay, you want the truth? Feels like I am going to be part of a circus or a musical in which I hope to have some fun myself, else, what a waste…! Are you getting personalised rings?

Huh? The fact that we set a date, found a venue, booked it, made lists, sent it to our respective siblings/parents, is hard work enough. Now if I have to engrave his name on my ring, I will just stutter….

Have you shopped for your jewellry?

What they actually mean is, “Will you end up having better jewellery than me?” I find women idiotically competitive about jewellery. “Is her diamond bigger than mine” is not a concern I am about to have. So ladies, please flash all you have. I am not in the race.

So is it a big wedding? Define big to me. In my opinion, hanging out with a hundred odd people who I ordinarily do not hang out with is big. Changing costumes at someone else’s whim is big. Sitting in one spot for three to four hours is big. Not laughing my lungs out when my beau repeats mantras after the pundit is big.

You haven’t started shopping yet?

Technically if you have the cash, a day or two is enough to shop. Unless you are Pamela Anderson and need to get everything made to cup size FF. One wasn’t exactly living like a Nean derthal before the wedding, was one? I mean, one had good shoes, bags, make-up, clothes, pretty much everything that is ready to go. So why pretend that you are a just-born baby and shop head-to-toe?

What does the groom do?

This question, although very geriatric was actually asked by an under-30 cousin of mine with suitable degree, corporate job, the works. I found it strange. I was being marked. What they actually mean to ask is, “After all that wait, I hope you have picked well..”

This is a generation that should be celebrating love, freedom of choice and all the things their parents didn’t have. Instead they are less cool than their parents.

Where did you two meet?

Would I say I met him while investigating a story on how singles network in the city? That our first long conversation was about single malts? No, the politically right thing to say would be “We met at a party.”

Where is he from? What do his parents do? Siblings? Are they married? Where does he live?

More marking. But I couldn’t care less, as I have come full cycle from being white sheep to brown sheep to black sheep to very black sheep to white sheep all over again.

And in eyes of ‘the family’, I have redeemed myself by meeting a suitable man. And managed to escape getting hitched to unsuitable, fat, balding divorcees with two kids, a fat alimony and low self-esteem, as they would imagine happening to girls ‘my age’

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