Once upon a time.....

Noooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!! Please not another Monday. I so don’t think I can handle another one, especially not after the weekend I just had. Contrary to what you might all be thinking I’m not about to launch into some tale of woe. I’ll do that later. First I just want to tell you all that Bunny go go licious has finally got her man. Yep! That’s right the 5 year romantic saga of the girl with the bunny pants and the guy with the pristine finger nails has finally reached the end of another chapter. On the 19th of August 2006 She finally said “I do” to Just So Dude and now they are going to ride off in the sunset and make little bunnies and dudes. Sniff! I love a happy ending.

It was a lovely day. She looked lovely, he looked lovely and naturally I looked amazing. It just felt really nice to be part of something so special. I think sometimes going to weddings when you hardly know the people involved; you forget what the whole things about. You’re more interested in what the bride is wearing and who is sooooo not looking right in their “its way too tight but you were £2.50 on sale at Karen Millen dress.” By the way …excuse me whilst I digress for a moment… I might be mistaken but aren’t we in the year 2006?? That’s what I thought so why do some brides still insist on wearing…God I can’t even bring myself to say it…gloves??

I read Ijebu Chicks vast Ovation collection (I know! She is just so rass. I only read them so I can actually have a conversation with her. I am so thoughtful) and I don’t get why all these women are wearing gloves. Are they cold? Did they forget to get a manicure before their big day? It just doesn’t work ladies. It ruins your look and how the hell are you supposed to keep a firm grip on your groom if you are wearing slippery satin gloves? You need flesh-to-flesh contact. That way when it gets to the vow stage and you detect any sweat on his palms. You know to hold on tight and give the male members of your family the signal to barricade the doors against any escape attempts. So please no gloves. Especially not those lacy fingerless ones…you ain’t Madonna and even she doesn’t wear them anymore. Hurry up and propose chick let this be a warning to you. I don’t care if Market boy has a lacy hand apparel fetish. You will not be allowed to disgrace the family by wearing such on the big day. Keep your kinky get up for the boudoir.

I am glad to say that Bunny go go licious did the sensible thing and stayed away from gloves. Good thing too as I wouldn’t have wanted to ruin her big day by wrestling her to ground at the alter and pulling them off. Might also have had to give her a few quick slaps just to make sure she realised the severity of her crime against fashion. Nah! I lie. The slapping would really just be for my benefit. Nothing like a good slapping to relieve tension.

Anyway as I was saying before I got sidetracked …when you see 2 people you’ve known for so long,who you actually care about, stand up there and say they are ready and willing to deal with the future together…it puts a whole new spin on a wedding. I loved it and I know they are just going to be soooo happy together. Especially Bunny as she now has me as a sister in law. I will be there to dish out awesome advice on all aspects of marriage. My specialties being how to show the PROPER RESPECT to your sister in-law. How to prepare gourmet meals for your sister in-law and the most important one, How to ensure your sister in-law is happy at all times. She will need to start lessons soon as is she already slacking in her duties. I have not even had a good morning Aunty sister in-law phone call today not to mention a hand delivered breakfast of an Akara sandwich (Akara between 2 slices of white bread buttered with onions and tomatoes delicately sliced. Yum! Yum!) and a mug of Olvatine with 2 sugars. I will be holding a family meeting if this problem has not been rectified by tomorrow morning.

All this university girls sef. They think they are too good to wake up early in the morning to feed their family members. I blame the boy. I told them all they needed was a girl that could say “yes”, “Thank you” and “I’m in the mood”. But would they listen? Of course not. They wanted girls that could discuss the political climate in Timbuktu. Just selfish if you ask me. Its not like their wives belong to just them. They belong to the WHOLE family. But seeing as they have now been spoilt by being allowed to discuss things other than what they are making for dinner and what colour underwear they have on, I just don’t get any respect. Yep! Will definitely be holding a family meeting.

I’m sure the women libbers are out in force to scold me for having such negative views on my sister in-laws. As Ijebu chick likes to say “ Sebi you too will marry” Err… yeah! I will to a billionaire only child whose parents are also only children and live permanently in a secluded island in the Bahamas. So will not have to deal with Akara sandwich runs before I head off to work in the morning. Hahahaha! I’m so clever.

Look its not like they both didn’t meet me before the decided to say yes. They had their chance to escape but they chose to stay, as I am obviously irresistable. So let this be a lesson to you single ladies out there. The most important thing in your future hubby is not his looks, conversation, size of his bank balance or other physical appendages. It is the saneness of his family.

You’re probably thinking if I managed to fool Bunny, Ijebu chick and Market boy (yep he’s still around and unaware of the terrors that await him) with my level of insanity. Then what hope is there for you poor girls? Well the long and short of it is there isn’t any. Crappy, annoying and mentally deranged in-laws are part and parcel of the whole marriage drama. There’s nothing you can do to change them so the best thing to do is just go with the flow and remind yourself constantly who and what you’re accepting them for.

Tomorrow when I wake Bunny up at 5.30am to make sure she gets my Akara sandwich to me piping hot. She will look into the face of her happily snoring hubby, refrain from cursing me in Yoruba and get up to wash the beans. Ahhh! Another happy ending.