Thank goodness I'm a guy

Well, I bet that was an attention grabbing head line. And its true. To be honest, I had actaully decided tonights post was to be on things more deep and spiritual than the shallow sludge I'll shortly dribble out, which you will no doubt read and try your hardest to comprehend, what part of me may actually constitute "spiritual".

Well, anyways, the subject is true for a quite many few things, but what I'll say now, I only learnt of in the previous 30 minutes, so consider yourselves blessed for the front page is now swimming in a headline hot of the wires.

My bone really, has to do with invites. As you may know, my dear sister is due to be married shortly, for which our whole family of five - my Grandad doesn't count: he's probably the most resourceful and takes away as much as our excesses add - will impress upon the soil of Inida, our Western footprint, which, in real terms is probably equal to about a hundred or so Indians.

Back to the invites: when we last went to India, we went trekking, to a part of Bangalore, whose notorierty is not for IT, but for invitation cards. The place is stacked and crammed with all manner of shops and outlets, each having about 568743595 or so different decorations for the thirsty wedding parties. We were just another. So we trudged for about five hours, trying in vain to go through the multitude patterns colours and most importantly, Gods. Along the way there were conversations about how everyone has to make moeny, about how stingy the Guju's are, and along the way, we also lost a couple of the stragglers. While my Uncle and I sat for a rest to recover, my Dad and Sunita surged ahead, dancing around the crevaces to reach the Everest of invitation cards.

At the summit, still not happy with the choice, they too came back, and together we found base camp and refereshed ourselevs with some Thumbs Up and the usual favourite, Foorti (which incidentally, may also be a form of liquid food, because it is THICK!!!). In the end we selected the card from base camp, which has the unique distinction of being the FIRST CARD WE SAW.

So now, lets fast forward to the present day. I'll admit the cards look damn good. Infact, for my wedding I'd even risk being called unoriginal, and use the same style of invites - of course the girl I marry would probably slap me for it, but hey, I'll risk that as well!

But tonight, we were putting the inserts in the pouch - or "case" if you wish to be fashionably Western - which then go in the envelope. The pouch is almost the buffer between the inserts and sterile envelope. It adds a touch of class, or gives the inserts a superiority complex, for the inserts are protected from the outside world for they have Something More.

But these inserts - one for every different fucntion - are damn hard to get in to the pouch, which are then harder still to get into the envelope. All you people who recieve these invites better appreicate the skill with which we got them in. Actually, you probably will. After the invite has been opened, and you try to re-enter the inserts into the pouch into the envelope, only then will you see the master class required to handle these invites.

So the reason I'm thankful I'm a guy is cos all of this belongs to the girls side. I love the person who made this Decree. "Yep, you can do it!" So easily said, and damn, are we thankful we got in first!!!

Having said all that, the reality of the situation will probably be that she would complain that I take no interest in the wedding, and then I'll be dragged along to the selection rounds and, chances are that, cos she has so much else to organise I would do the slave labour of putting the inserts in the pouch and the envelope, but at least I'm armed with a Decree going back through the ages, although by the time I pull out this weapon, she'll throw some rubbish about a glass ceiling at me, and I'll be compeled to do the time...