Yesterday, (Saturday August 24th), I attended a wedding. It was really nice, of course. The blushing, glowing bride was gorgeous! The dashing groom was practically floating in his agbada. Love was in the air. Music was blasting thru the speakers, and people were doing all sorts of dance moves. Whether they were in sync with the music or not is a story for another day.
I went into the reception hall hoping to attract as little attention as possible because I was late. Instead, I got lots & lots of attention. Apparently, my outfit was HAWT. I cannot count how many people said they loved the outfit and asked who made it. I said ‘Thank You’ so many times that I automatically assumed anyone that so much as looked @ me was about to compliment me. One lady asked how I was doing and I replied with ‘Thank You.’ Oops. Well, it’s not my fault jo. I was all that and a bag of chips. Forget what you know. I was stylin & profilin.
I was feeling so cute that I didn’t have time to dance well. I needed to perambulate the hall, so that those who didn’t see me would see me. I even thought of taking the mic from the mc to give this speech, “Good Evening, everyone. My name is Vera Ezimora. I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has complimented my outfit tonight. For those who have not, I realize that the lines to get to me are a little long, so you’re welcome to send all your compliments to P. O. BOX 7893. Essex MD 21221. Thank you in advance. And I’ll be signing autographs in front of the high table – directly in front of the bride & the groom.”
I couldn’t go thru this wedding without something funny happening to me. Just as every other story I have told you, I was jejely sitting down minding my own Verastic business when some man who could not have been less than ten years younger than my father came in front of me and began to roll his hips for me. All I could see in front of me was his groin shooting out. If you were looking @ this man from behind, you would have thought he was giving me a lap dance. Or worse case scenario, fellatio was going on. What else coulda had his hips gyrating like that?? Shamelessly shameless, I tell you.
Was I embarrassed? You. Have. No. Idea.
I have never seen this man in my life before. I don’t know what he was attempting to do: makossa dance, public seduction of Vera, public display of hips flexibility, wooing of Vera, or public embarrassment of Vera. He succeeded in doing the last one.
I pushed him away. BEGGED him to stop in the name of love… b4 he breaks my heart… further. He left and still came back three times! And he had the nerves to ask why I had not taken his picture with my camera. Of course, I took his picture – not because I wanted to, but because my friends were gone and I needed them to see this nuisance of a man. And no, I will not post it up here. You never know who might be reading this biko.
But Mr. Hip Gyrator was just an unwelcome distration. I had my eyes on Mr. Contagious [Smile]. We shared a little more than a couple of words between each other and lots and lots of confusing smiles. I sat there pretending to be looking @ my camera, but I wasn’t. I was tryna send a nonverbal message. I didn’t want to have the don’t-talk-to-me look on my face, and @ the same time, I didn’t wanna have the please-talk-to-me look, so I settled on the I’m-too-busy-pretending-to-look-at-my-camera-to-notice-you’re-staring-at-me look.
At the end of the day, we said our goodbyes in between lots & lots of mysterious smiles. That smile of his was contagious. He just kept on smiling, and I smiled right back. And it wasn’t the fake smile I gave him. It was not the please-stop-smiling-at-me-you’re-freaking-me-out smile. It was not the what-the-heck-is-so-funny smile, and it was not the yeah-whatever smile. It was the God-I-love-your-smile-so-please-keep-smiling smile. How could one not smile back @ that smile? It was so easy, peaceful, beautiful, calming, and contagious.
No, no, I’m not in love. Just saying there is obviously a God somewhere. Off I go to tell God how I want Him to plan our next chance meeting.