How I met my husband

It was a wedding. I know you are probably rolling your eyes. People meet in weddings all the time, no biggie, blah blah blah. Well, this story is more of “HOW” than “WHERE”. 
I have never been one of those who attend weddings with the hopes of meeting a potentially single-and-available man. *rolling me eyes* It’s no news that guys take advantage of the fact that ladies let their guards down in weddings, especially the really single ones. And when I mean really single, I mean the types that have done bridesmaids more than once, bought several aso ebi and still no ‘soulmate’. And we all know when guys ‘baff up’ to weddings, they automatically look like husband materials. One moment he’s single, the next thing you run into him and his pregnant wife in the mall. Anyways, back to my gist.

So I was at my friend’s younger sister’s wedding reception. We had done all the necessary dancing, singing, screaming, taking pictures and all. I sat there, waiting for the moment we would get to leave. Unfortunately, my friend was my ride home and she didn’t seem ready at all. Was nowhere to be found actually. I got tired of watching the dance floor (having turned down several Yoruba demons 😁) and I decided to go nibble on something. I picked up my purse and approached the desert table. I settled for marshmallows dipped in chocolate. The chocolate fountain was too pretty to ignore. We are talking about a 7-tier fountain. So there I was, spinning mallows. I was on the third one when…

For whatever reason, some drunk guy decided to start stunting and displaying ‘mad’ skills. In the process, he lost his balance and crashed into another guest, who in turn lost his balance and crashed into the desert table. The table shook, and for some reason the chocolate fountain decided to join in the fun, lost its balance, crashing and spilling its content on guess who? ME. 

For a moment, I stood in shock, trying to absorb what had just happened. I could hear people laugh, some shouting streak, the drunk guy struggling as he was pulled out by the dancers. I was too embarrassed to bother about the knot that was already forming on my forehead. Then I heard a voice.

“I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

With my chocolate-blurred vision and steaming anger, I didn’t bother to match the face with the voice as I pulled off my sticky shoes and marched out of the hall, making sure to pass through the dancing crowd, smearing anyone and anything as I charged through. Not like it bothered anyone. I had grabbed a face towel from one of the tables and managed to clean off some of the mess from my face, neck, arms and purse. I pulled off my wig as it was wet and  plastering itself to my face. I tried to call my friend but couldn’t get a signal. Going back into the hall to look for her was not an option as I was already beyond embarrassed. I had no idea where the rest room was, no change of clothes, no one to come to my rescue. I could feel tears of frustration form in my eyes. I walked to the car park, ignoring the thousand and one questions the bouncers were asking me and I sat on her car boot, hoping sometime soon she would come to the car. Then his handsome self came out of nowhere.

“I am really sorry. I feel terrible already.” He said.

“I know. It wasn’t your fault.” I replied, visibly angry and wondering where the drunk guy was. Not like it would have done me any good. I could feel my body getting really sticky, making me more irritable by the moment. 

“I would give you my clothe but driving in singlet and boxers at nine in the night is not the smartest thing to do.”

I chuckled just thinking about it. 

“My big sister is the event planner and we happen to be family friends with the bride. I could have her work something out for you.” he said.

“Oh, thanks. That would be very much appreciated.” I replied, feeling hopeful.

He disappeared, to appear again with his sister. After exchanging pleasantries, she told me I would have to put on one of the usher’s dresses. I told her I wouldn’t mind, even if it was a paper bag. I just wanted out of this sticky dress. He whispered and said “sorry” as I passed him by. I got to the rest room with the said usher and was able to wash away the stickiness and thankfully the dress fit. Only it was a bit shorter on me.  But it was better than being a walking fountain. I had my shoes cleaned out and dried with the hand drier. My wig was a no show, so I packed my hair into a bun and set the loose strands in place with a bit of water. I took one last look at the mirror. No wig, no make up, different dress. I looked like a total different person.

Finally, I located my friend and she claimed to have gone berserk when she heard what happened. “Indeed, I can see the roof caving in.’ I thought. I gave her the full gist and she apologized…then laughed at me. Real hard. Said she was sad she missed the best part. She went on to tease me on how i arrived at the party in a white dress and was leaving in a black dress. I rolled my eyes and asked her to please take me home.

The next morning, I got an image from an unknown number on WhatsApp. It was a picture of me drenched in chocolate. I rolled my head back and screamed “troooooolllls”. A message followed.

“Black looks good on you. Brown doesn’t.”

“LOL. Funny.” I replied.

“Sorry I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. I was having a talk with someone and one moment you were there, the next you were gone.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for saving my behind. Give your sis a kiss for me. Would have her dress with her in no time.”

“Take your time. And sorry for ruining your night.”

“And dress.”

“And shoes.”

“And hair. Well technically not yours. Probably belongs to an Indian girl. 😜”

I laughed real hard. 

“Such a joker. Gotta run.” I replied.

I smiled and got off my bed. The rest , they say is history. Thanks to twitter, I became a meme but on the upside, I landed myself a happily-ever-after. 

Jokingly I tell people not to fall in love but to fall in chocolate. In my case, it was the reverse. Speak of double irony.

Hasta la vista amigos.

Photo credit: Google Images

4 thoughts on “How I met my husband

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