I hate going to weddings.
I know, I know, family obligations and all that... but still. I hate it. What can I do? I guess I'm an incurable...antisocialist?

Okay, so I arrive. I'm about half an hour late, and - surprise, surprise - I'm the first one there. Since the bridesiders are hosting, and I'm a blood relative (the bride is a cousin), I get into the greeting line, and wait for guests. Thankfully, it's not a long wait.

Suddenly, the busfull of the groom’s family arrive. The father of the bride is nowhere to be seen, so I set my teeth in a smile, and like part of the assembly line, I nod or shake alternatively, along with a greeting. Once they're all in, I lead them to the sitting area. Trying to act like a good semi-host, I look for a more sparsely filled table to socialise at. Of the two choices, thankfully, the one with the ancient gentlemen already has a bridesider. I sit down with a group of tweenagers that includes the groom.

After some more mechanical grinning and handshaking, we settle down, and I realise that my presence is probably not appreciated. I don't think they realised (or cared) that I was from the bride's side, because they start a series of dirty jokes involving the bride, groom, and various other married women in a series of 'adventures'. Although at first I am surprised at the level of the groom’s involvement in these jokes, I start getting bored and phase out. Then I begin doing what I always do on these social gatherings when I'm bored.

I imagine the different ways in which the place could burn down. We're in an outdoors area, covered with a huge tent - the shelter, supported by bamboo and ropes. Obviously, I start with the ropes burning. The flame would travel upwards, until it reached the pole, which would then fall down into the buffet area, knocking down those eternally flaming buffet pots, which would...

"What? Err...no, thanks. I'm not thirsty."
I notice that the table only has three other people left on it, one of who just offered me water. Another person gets up and leaves. With no small amount of irritation, I realise they're abandonning the table again. Soon I'll be all by myself on the huge table - an unfortunate soul who faces the jeers and poke-funnery of the surrounding throng.

Before I can take action, a second person leaves the table. Now what? If I get up, it'll be rude, and that guy will be by himself at the table. WHAT?! HE just got up and left me here! I quickly get up, and force myself on these two people sitting alone at another table. They look like father and son, so I hazard a guess that they won't get up one by one.

"Hey, peace! Peace and blessings!"
I shake hands with the father, and to my horror, as I turn to the son, he waggles his blinking mobile, gets up, and walks away. I eye the father, hoping he's not going to get up as well. Instead, he asks me "So, what do you do?”

I ponder this question quietly for about half a second. Before it gets too awkward: "I...uh...study?” Fathers are always interested in education. More confidently, I say "I go to university. Here at EME." Turns out that the fellow is a retired dean of some other college. We get into a deep discussion about schooling, in which I lie through my teeth, but at least honestly. More people join our table, so I get a chance to relax.

After a bit, the son comes back and joins the table as well, but instead of his original seat nearer me, he goes and sits by his father. After a couple of whispers from his father, he comes around to my side of the table. "So," he remarks, "you study?” I answer in the affirmative, and he initiates another conversation on the topic. I try talking less loudly, so that the father doesn't catch on to some of the lies that I couldn't possibly use on the son.

Our conversation fizzles out as another gets louder and more violent (in a civilised way, of course). As I pick up the basics of the argument, my jaw drops in amazement.

The father is in a discussion with a newcomer (who he doesn't seem to know), about some construction that the newcomer seemed to have been cheated in. As the newcomer goes into further and further detail in hopes of getting some sympathy for his condition, the dean-father man niggles over small points in hope of tripping up the newcomer. Thankfully, before things can descend to fists, dinner is announced.

I get up with the majority of the table, and head to the buffet. Like a good semi-host, I pass a plate to the son, and get him in line for the food, getting behind him myself. After taking a helping of rice and kebabs, I head back to my table.

Damn! Someone's taken my seat. I hate it when that happens. I make a beeline for an empty seat at another table. As I sit down, two others from the first table I was at also sit down. One of them offers me a Pepsi. Humph! Host pretender. I decline, but get one of my own.

A waiter sneaks up to the table and drops a piece of roast chicken on each of our plates, fresh off the barbeque stick. One of the other table members complements the catering, and I have to agree. Another waiter apparently hears this, because he surreptitiously drops a business card on the table.

My tablemates again start sneaking off. Remembering their previously traitorous behaviour, I start scouting for alternatives.  The father-son group has a couple of free seats, but they are at the opposite end of the tent. Luckily, an acquaintance from a nearby table notices my plight and calls me to join him. I grin triumphantly at my table traitors, and scoot over.

After catching up on events since the last time we met (the day before yesterday), I get up for desert. This time, when I return, my seat is still free. It is only after I finish my small plate of fruit trifle that I realise that others at my table are only just finishing their main course. As they get up en masse for desert, I am left alone at the table again. Panicking, I see no nearby escape route. In a fit of inspiration, I whip out my mobile and start fiddling with it. Better to be the obnoxious mobiler than to be the guy who sat alone at the table. Thankfully, they come back without too much delay, and normality resumes.

The food is finished, so guests start to leave. Those with slightly more tact than others give their token congratulations to the bride and groom. Me too: "Congratulations!” (I think I recognise that glazed smile from somewhere). Anyhow, my duty complete, I head for the exit, goodbying people o the way like some famous wrestler slapping hands with his fans on the way to the ring. Finally, FREEDOM!