Pooper of Parties

by Eman

I just came back from a wedding.

I do not like weddings. I really don’t. And frankly, weddings don’t like me either. I usually end up having a bad time on account of my aversion to loud music and nonexistent dancing skills (another unfulfilled Arab stereotype, boohoo).

Even when I do enjoy myself, I usually have a sour feeling at the back of my throat when I realize how the traditional, average Qatari wedding has become a testament to shameless greed and a startling degradation of morals. A shining effigy to our insatiable (and unsustainable) shallow interests.

I find it incredibly uncomfortable to go to these things and witness how much people have wasted on a forgettable, one night event. Not to mention the money that is (literally) thrown around the ballroom, while women dance on it. They dance. On the fucking money. I can’t look the serving women in the eye sometimes, I feel ashamed to be associated with the mindless pageantry.

And the loud music *groans* what is that about? I am aware I sound like a pooper of parties, but where is the fun in playing music so loud that you can feel cracks forming on your ribcage? It makes for an unsurprising lack in conversation, save for the ninety seconds you have between songs. At events such as these, social interaction is limited to the customary two kisses on the right cheek, an unintelligible hello and perhaps, if your partner is particularly chatty, a series of obscure hand signals that neither of you understands.

Oh and the bride, the poor bride. Forced to sit alone on a pedestal in a heavy dress while people pose for pictures with her and old women talk about how ugly she’s grown – not unlike the elephant at the derelict Doha Zoo. She is not allowed to step off the pedestal. The rest of the ballroom is lava to her. She must sit and smile and then be taken by her new husband and stuffed in a plexiglass container at Macy’s where she is put on display for a week (I am not married, so I assume this is what happens when the bride and groom leave the ballroom).

This has been my wedding rant. I wanted to say something about how terrible it is that all the food gets thrown out even if it hasn’t been touched, and how the excessive import of Dutch flowers is crippling the environment, but who cares about sustainability, right?

Maybe next time, I’m tired.

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