Hello, boo. . .
Now, before I start this blog, I want you to know that I am not your average girl — far from it. I do try to blend in just like everyone else but, beyond all that, I am startlingly different, standing out even when I try not to.
I conceived this idea of writing letters to you in the build-up to our marriage because I just had the weirdest wedding in a dream (with a wedding gown of silver-gold and black, can you imagine?) and I actually kept thinking to myself in the dream: “Of course, I’d get married this very way because I never do anything by the rules.” 👰
Shocked?
Well, I did tell you I am different, didn’t I? 🤷♀️
First, you’d better cry on our wedding day — or I will annul the marriage even before it starts. Also, make your eyes pop out on springs — cartoon-style — when you first lay eyes on me in my resplendent gown (more on that later), if you really want to make it to the reception.
If you do get that far — good for you — it would be in your best interests (and your mom’s, lest I kidnap her before your very eyes) to sob loudly as you read out your speech. Afterwards, you are going to feed me cake while watching me with adoring goo-goo eyes, else I’m letting in a menagerie of wild animals to crash the party.
Speaking of the divinely delicious cake (made to my specifications, of course, as we’d have a not-so-delicious replacement for the guests), if you don’t allow me to run away with it under the guise of retiring early to our honeymoon destination (again, my preference) where I can sample it in peace, I would be pushed to release a cocktail of plagues into the world so deadly and irreversible that the mythical Pandora would look like a heroine. And rather than sit and sulk after my premature departure, do well to follow me almost as immediately with gallons of ice-cream to go along with the cake, if you want any of it to savor (nothing more than a forkful, though — and I’m being generous here).
Before I stage my spectacular escape, cake-in-hand and you-in-tow, I insist on being served first at the reception, pushing away everyone in line to the buffet and grabbing a steaming dish of jollof rice (with extra curry) and chicken (marinated in red wine vinegar), thereafter lifting my skirts up and running out while laughing raucously and calling out unprintable four-letter words. For good measure, I’d also take the pastor’s wife hostage, and if her husband dares follow me, any bruised/dead patrons would be on his conscience.
Finally, back to the glorious wedding gown I told you about at the outset: do make sure it has pockets, or I’m mulishly going to pretend to be deaf, dumb and schizophrenic — till a dressmaker is called in, that is.
If, at this point, you still really want to get married to me, well, I’m convinced our love will last. But just so all this doesn’t seem too much if the aforementioned events eventually come to pass (AMEN!), I would be communicating with you each week henceforth to prep you for the bumpy ride ahead you’re probably dreading right now.
Your wife-in-hell-waiting,
Nadia 😘
P.S: The requirements above are by no means exhaustive. Depending on my mood on the big day, there could be more (certainly not less) — and you’d have to adapt, loving groom that you are. 🤵
Source: Daily Mail GH
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