Middle Class Wedding

The past weekend was my cousin Rick's wedding. He got married to Liz, his girlfriend of four years and if the scented wedding invitation card with their own personal emblem is an indication of the grandeur that is going to happen during the wedding itself, then they sure didn't disappoint.

It was a garden wedding and the venue was at the Botanic Gardens. They had two huge canopies and in the shelter were round tables with white tablecloths and lace skirtings, complete with rattan chairs and giant white bows. There were fresh flowers everywhere: Roses, lilies, tulips, orchids, carnations; everything was fresh and in white. And in abundance too. Beside the canopies were three rows of tables filled with at least five different types of cakes, eclairs, cupcakes, cheese fondue, chocolate fondue (complete with artisan breads and fresh flowers), fruit punch and a mind boggling array of hor d'oeuvres.

"Where is the real food?" my mum quipped, staring at the buffet table from afar.

"Mum, it's chic, get yourself together," I said.

"What kind of a middle class family can afford this kind of wedding? Since when did they become rich?!" my mum exclaimed as we were walking towards the venue.

"Stop it lah," my brother Harold said, getting annoyed.

There was also a carousel by the side of the buffet table for the kids to play at, generator included. The dress code was smart casual and my mum had put on a knee length white dress, grey pumps and hair up in a bun.

"How come you are wearing white? You are getting married too?" Harold joked when he saw my mum earlier that day.

"Garden wedding, I'm wearing grey pumps and I have to walk on grass, in the blithering heat!" my mum complained, tiptoeing to one of the canopies.

It was rather hot when we got there. I could feel beads of sweat forming at my back underneath my shirt and linen jacket by the time we got a table. Across us was Aunt Sally, the lady of the hour, entertaining guests. She wore a maroon sleeveless dress and a chunky bracelet and a statement necklace. She was also wearing a turban. Parisian chic if you ask me.

"Look at your aunt. She looks like Carmen Miranda, god this is embarassing," my mum whispered beside me as we sat down.

"Where are the fruits on her head?" I goaded.

"There, on the buffet table," my mum nonchalantly said.

I laughed out so hard everybody around us looked.

"Oi, stop it lah both of you," my brother hushed, clearly annoyed now.

"You guys help yourself to the food, I am going to check on your aunt and check the wedding dais," my mum said, putting down her LV Speedy on the table.

My brother rose and made his way to the buffet table and I asked him to get for me some food as well. Barely two minutes later, my mum came to our table, shaking and breathing hard.

"You have no idea how much they spent on this wedding. A quarter of a million dollars! Harry, when did they rose from the middle class? And so quick?! He bought for her a thirty thousand diamond ring from Tiffany's and the wedding gown is a Vera Wang!" my mum rattled on.

"Mum, he is an investment banker and she is an architect. They are hardly middle class. Middle class is fifty dollar void deck weddings ma. And also, you're so jealous right now right?" I asked.

"I am not! Your Aunt Sally is one of my favourite female siblings," my mum said.

"Aunt Sally is your ONLY female sibling what are you talking about?" I responded, amused.

"Harry, she looks ridiculous," my mum poured.

"She looks great, why can't you just be happy for her?" I advised.

"We are siblings. We are supposed to be judgmental, conniving and egoistical," my mum explained. "And I would hate to see her daughter in law look bad in a Vera Wang!" she continued.