asleep at the kosha

I don’t get Kuwaiti weddings. I really don’t.

Last night I was sweet-talked by my mom into pretty-please dropping by a cousin’s daughter’s wedding party (you know, since I was going to two exhibitions and what was one more event anyway. At 10 pm. When my bedtime is 9:30). I literally wanted to cry after wishy-washily agreeing to this because I had just spent that day and the day before preparing for a big Palestinian embroidery exhibition. I was dreading going out at all last night, let alone sealing it with an obnoxious Kuwaiti wedding. Which brings me back to my point: I don’t get Kuwaiti weddings.

Although the dressing up part is alright, I don’t understand the appeal of attending a segregated party where you remain seated for the most of it, watching an assortment of tweenie debutantes, over-confident  spinsters and women in various degrees of mother- and grandmotherhood cavorting back and forth on the dance floor. The dance floor, if you imagine a church, is basically a wider-than-normal aisle flanked by two sets of seats. But instead of the seats being pews facing the altar (or in this case, kosha*), they are strategically tiered, facing the dance floor, providing the perfect vantage point for any over-zealous match-maker. And on one of those frilly chairs, staring catatonically into what looks like a blown-up, animated version of Mackintosh’s Quality Street candy, is me,  wondering what the fuck am I doing here.

*In a Kuwaiti wedding, it’s customary for the bride to walk in first and then the groom about an hour or so later. They both sit at the kosha, which comprises some type of love-seat and flower arrangement. The kosha can range from simple and sophisticated to all out, no holds barred, floral, ribbon, white-dove releasing, fire-work igniting extravaganza.