Much as I can run pretty fast, I really need to work on my start up time. If I were a car I’d have a top speed of 300km/h but my catalog would say 0-60 in ten minutes. This is the only explanation I can think of that will explain why I keep getting caught in debates I’d rather not have.
My dude K is on the exalted path to married bliss but one could not know this by looking at him. We (self and 2 other lads) were deeply concerned. He had the look of a Saddam Hussein in a pit of George Bushes and Condoleezza Rices. K, being a gentleman of extraordinarily good cheer, generally was never in such a state so I waited patiently for him to unfold his tales and woes. After some cups of coffee with something Russian in them he let loose his troubles in a passionate and eloquent burst.
His problem was not his Pearl. He loved and adored his Pearl. He was willing to climb Mount Kenya, cross River Nile and meet Lucy Kibaki for his Pearl. His problem was Father of Pearl and five Uncles of Pearl. The aforementioned relatives of pearl seemed to have gotten the mistaken impression that he was a rich and prosperous cattle rancher, and thus asked for assorted bulls and heifers, billies and nanny goats so that they could hand over their beloved to him. They also wanted enough money to buy a good second hand car.
His protesting that he was a relative nobody whose job consisted of balancing books and his transport was generally that of the communal nature left then unmoved. Unless they took delivery of said livestock, said Relatives of Pearl, he’d be better advised to find someone cheaper.
The cups at Java House are pretty strong so the one he was holding survived the clenching of his ample fist around it. That he was moved was beyond question. We were feeling his collective pain when suddenly two of my lads hurriedly wolfed down scalding tea and left leaving me and K. A minute later it became apparent when suddenly we were outnumbered by enthusiastic and cheerful females who filled the table and the next one.
Collective intuition saw through our masks of impassivity and the salient facts where dragged out. A firebrand turned to me and sought my opinion. This I gave without the slightest hesitation.
The waiters who rushed downstairs to fight what they thought was a sudden fire went back up gratefully when they realized it was merely outrage. I can’t remember all of what was said, chiefly because there were several outraged voices talking at once at very high volume. But the more pressing questions were:
Granted the best I can offer Aida’s folks if were fortunate enough to get round to that stage right now is a couple of cats and a few rabbits. But that is not why I am against it.
Probably the fact that I asked her to marry me, and spend the rest of her natural life with me is a pretty good indication of my commitment. But that’s just me
Well, first of all asking me to empty my savings will precipitate me in an even worse position than before, and we will be reduced to buying five loaves and two fish. And in any case isn’t the whole idea taking care of each other?
No offence to anyone, but there are a whole boatload of bollocks traditions that we have today that need to be done away with.
I agree that the folks must be given their due props. But why exactly is paying large sums of money the best way to do this? Trust me, I am deeply grateful.
If anything, I believe the whole concept does more harm than good. Much as we have come along way we all know that there are men among us with the most primitive ideals about women. The notion of making him pay to marry his wife still further reinforces his misguided notion that she is bought and paid for and is thus his property. Handing over cows and goats and money is proof of absolutely nothing.
The whole concept just perpetuates the notion of a wife as property, stifling social development still further. It places unnecessary strains on the unfortunate groom who quite literally can be reduced to a pauper overnight. I doubt it does much for the relationship between the prospective groom and his new inlaws, who will be outraged to discover they live in a one room apartment (including kitchen) so small that one has to step outside for the other to change clothes.
It is in my considered opinion that when I go down on one knee, the bride to be, in my mind is priceless and no amount of money, livestock or sacks of grains can ever be enough. Not nearly.
Of coursed if forced to sell a liver heart colon kidney, or something else I have a pair of, I won’t have much choice :( But then again she could always have a bag packed and listen for pebbles hitting her window
PIC OF THE DAY
I’ll teach you how to stunt
My wrists stay rocked up
My TV’s pop up in a Maybach benz
I’ll teach you how to stunt
Nigga you can’t see me
My bently GT got smoke-gray tints
I’ll teach you how to stunt
My neck stay blinging, my rims stay gleaming, I’m shining man
I’ll teach you how to stunt …
Scenes at the last G Unit Concert
Jerzee Monet – Most High