Here’s a story of how I once made the grave mistake of trying to enjoy the pleasures of a Yoruba wedding party all by myself. I’d gotten a personal invite to the ceremony held in June 2017, alright, but I should have known better than trying to go all by myself.
I really should have known better than pressuring myself to attend, especially after my two friends, with whom I’d been planning to mash up the place, slied me just a week to the big day. Mind you, we had been planning this gig for two months. But hey, I wasn’t going to let that deter me. What was a little disappointment to someone determined to get something done?
So what did I do? I called up one babe I had just begun being friendly with. I mean, there’s meant to be a silver lining after every dark cloud, right?
I chose to see my friend’s pulling-out of the plan as an opportunity to chill with the light-skin, curvy igbo babe.
She actually loved the idea. She was eager to go and I was really excited that everything had finally gelled and I’d spend time with her, gist, eat good food and maybe even take her back to my place afterwards.
Dreams do come true, don’t they?
Well, apparently not.
On the morning of the wedding, my phone rang and it was her.
You know those hand-falling moments when your phone rings and you’re hoping it’s an alert you’ve been expecting, only for it to turn out to be your network provider letting the devil use them to bring more agony to your raggedy soul?
That was it.
Brothers and sisters, imagine my despair when she apologetically called to say she was cancelling. She said she’d tried to make it happen, but there was no way she could force it.
Damned menstrual cramps!
When there’s a will…
But then, because my village people had planned and were so hell-bent on getting me that day, instead of seeing everything that already went wrong as a sign to just relax myself and sit home, my mind still wouldn’t let go of this wedding.
Maybe because I had just made this nice native attire – one well-tailored beauty like that – and the wedding was just the perfect opportunity to show it off. My body was legit doing me gish gish to just wear the clothe. I wasn’t going to let my guys and menstrual cramps rain on my party.
So off I went.
By the time I had my seat at 2:30pm or thereabouts, the bride and the groom were just dancing into the hall.
I mean, this was a reception that should have begun at 1pm but hey, I thought to myself, “they’re less than two hours late. I like these guys.”