Monday, 13 January 2014

Time For A Trip To The Husband Shop....

I performed at a beautiful wedding ceremony last weekend.  The music selected by the couple was gorgeous, as was the venue, the bride, the poems read… everything was on point.  I almost got carried away myself, until my feet started hurting, courtesy of my brand new 5 inch heels, and I was brought back to earth with a bump.  Thank goodness I didn’t have to spend the rest of the day smiling at everyone (like the beautiful bride did).  I could go home, collapse on my couch and have a glass of wine.  Oh, and take my shoes off.

I bumped into an old family friend at the ceremony as I was trying to carry my equipment back to the car and flee the scene.  This elderly lady has been friends with my parents for years, and I was actually quite pleased to see her.  She asked after the family, after my work, and even mentioned that she had enjoyed reading some of my articles. 

I was just about to extricate myself from her vice-like grip around my wrist when she mentioned that she had something very urgent to talk to me about.  Hoping it wasn’t bad news from home, I put down my luggage and put my most serious face on.

And immediately regretted it.  No sooner had I put my stuff down than the You-Can’t-Keep-Performing-At-Weddings-And-Not-Giving-Us-One speech began.  I kicked myself for not seeing this coming. 

‘’Why can’t you just give us a wedding, hmm?  What is the problem?  We are getting old, we want to see you happy and settled…’’

‘’But I am happy, Auntie.  Really…’’ I attempted, wishing I was anywhere but here.  Like the 7th circle of hell, or some such delightful venue.

‘’Waaaah!’’ was the disdainful reply. ‘’You young girls of today are just wasting time.  By the time I was your age I was already married with 3 children!  If it is a problem of meeting the right man, there are many nice boys I can introduce you to.’’

I am so tired of having this conversation with aunties and other so-called ‘concerned parties’ that I am finding it more and more difficult to maintain a respectful air of ‘’aww shucks, you’re right, I really should go to The Husband Shop and get myself a fine specimen’’.  Thankfully, this time around, I didn’t have to bother, as it started to rain.  And you know how rain makes women panic about their hair.  Calling over her shoulder that I should think about what she said, and that she would pray for me, my auntie gathered her gomesi and took off, holding her clutch above her head.

I sauntered over to my ride (the luxury of braided hair), and stood for a minute watching people running for cover.  Thankful that I don’t feel that mysterious pressure some ladies do when they attend a wedding and are not 1) the bride 2) in the company of a guy they can display as potential marriage material.

Soaked pretty much to the bone, I got into the car and realized I had never been so grateful for an unexpected shower.

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