it wasn't exactly a ceremony (cont.)

he delivered a bouquet of flowers in to my arms and gently placed a kiss on my right cheek. He greeted my parents with good mornings and then allowed his folks to introduce themselves to mine. He stood beside me held me by the waist and told me how beautiful I looked to him.

This sounds terribly eekish and Hollywood flick and honestly, it was, and the whole time I was just standing there unable to move a muscle. Not really all that ‘star-struck’ that I wasn’t able to move but more like ‘ hey, keep your hands by your side’ kind of thing. The flowers were beautiful (in fact all flowers are beautiful) and he was, well, charming, but I almost wanted to yell, “excuse me, we’ve just met and I’m only seventeen. Yes I understand this is a betrothal but without it I’m sure I’ll be able to find a perfect match on my own. So don’t treat me like some orphaned urchin that you spotted along the road and have since bestowed your so generous compassion on a poor helpless me. Having said that I’ll refuse to be treated in a way as if I’m now repaying your kindness my marring you and have entered you gates or treasury of women.” If I’m 40, and still single, I might have appreciated it. But I’m not even half that age, thus my sentiments were like eeky and weird and *urgh.

But in order not to disgrace my family name and to protect the dignity of my parents, I held my tongue. Almost literally, using my teeth and keeping it within my oral cavity with the help of my luscious lips.

Then we had lunch. To prevent myself from blurting words that I would regret later on I hardly spoke during the whole meal. Nearing the end of that peaceable lunch he asked if I was shy by nature and apparently I blatantly lied, “yes, I guess.” Other than that, conversation at the table revolved around the food (well, the dishes were in the centre of the table and naturally, with us sitting around the table, we spoke to each other by turning to our left or right and hence, yes, conversation ‘revolved’ around the food).

After lunch and with contented stomachs, my in-laws left, bringing their son along definitely, and I was *phew* absolutely relieved. I ran up my room, slipped into my weather beaten jeans and a white polo shirt with long sleeves which I rolled up to my elbows, grabbed my only ten gallon hat and dashed out to the back of the house, bouncing with the rabbits, running the collies and riding the horses. I was back in the confines of the prairie I know so well, where I can run free and not be kept stiff.

We won’t be living together till he’s 21, which is like just a year to go (?), and I’m sure it will pass in a blink of an eye. And after that, dooms day. Perhaps things will change after a year. After all, the only constant thing in life is change. And of course for the better, and not the opposite. I hope.

Keep smiling.