Two things:
1, I’m pretty passive aggressive,and
2, I hate weddings.

So I’ve been roped in to another wedding. This makes me assume that I must be masochistic,because HOW DO I KEEP LETTING THIS HAPPEN TO ME?? breathe However,I guess this one isn’t going to be so bad (read apocalyptically awful and mind-numbingly exhausting) because it’s for two people who I actually love.

Best maid duty involves taking bride-soon-to-be-bridezilla 😀 on wedding…shopping…for…wedding…stuff. The first appointment was with the photographer. He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t. Why is it that punctuality and Kenyans are irreconcilable concepts? I constantly bemoan the unfortunate state of those poor,useless watches that are clearly,just decorations.

Then,flower shopping. Then,shoe shopping. Then,dress shopping. I should’ve added a number 3: I hate shopping. sigh But it was cool. Taking it in stride. Trying not to twitch. Best-maidal obligations and all.

We walk into Enka Rasha,to the bridal section. 3 women are sitting there. We ask to see their gowns. One lady gets up heavily,slowly,and throws us 3 files. We open and leaf through them. She stares at us,uninterested,chewing a piece of gum like it’s life support. We ask questions. She replies in monosyllables. The other attendant is ignoring us,the other is writing something in…something. We ask if this is possible,if this is possible. They say no,it’s a package. No,it’s a package. We ask the price of the package. She tells us with all the excitement of a jaded whore. We walk out of there. The first sign should have been the name of their bridal section,emblazoned shamelessly in a horrid typeface ACROSS each picture and file cover: GAL BRIDAL.

At Capri7,there’s a waitress called Mildred. She makes me an entertainer,because I have to beg her for service by jumping around,waving my hands frantically,sijui dancing…sometimes I feel like I should do that thing that teenage boys do when they make their armpits fwump with their hands. I’ve stopped buying stuff at Capri7. They’re overly priced,which would be fine if their service wasn’t a pile of noxious shit.

I can’t stand bad service. And seeing as I’m passive-aggressive,I never bitch. But what these suckers don’t know is that I’m those ones who will chill,and then track you down ten years later and castrate you with a blunt razor. breathe

My point is,I’m going to stop accepting bad service. I’m paying,literally,for bad service. NO MORE! FREE YOURSELF FROM THE CHAINS OF OPPRESSION! EMANCIPATE YOURSELVES FROM MENTAL…or,go find the manager.

tSN