The Battle of Confetti – opening salvo

Off we go to ChinaMart, where mum can indulge her best-price antics.

aside- I cringe when she does this, and still get night-frights from the Bhamjee’s Shoes shop name-drop debacle (no, we’re not related to the family that owns the store, however this did not deter my mum from mentioning that I am late Abdul’s grand-daughter, who used to be a friend of the family. Yes, we did get a discount. Yes, I was a walking vat of essence of mortification. Mummy, I know you’re reading this.)

So there we were at ChinaMart having just stumbled upon a store that sold gift bags and papercraft-goodie-things for cheep-cheep.
Our mission that Saturday morning was to shop for wedding favour stuff.
I hate when people give ornamenty-garbage clutter at weddings. I know it’s the thought that counts, but how about one that actively engaged some sentient process? The cabinet in our lounge is filled with such crap of this ilk; kitschy plastic fruit floating in a bottle, a little white porcelain ribboned giftbox that looked much like a Lilliput coffin, a cloudy chocolate mould my gran wouldn’t eat because there was some prayer written on it in gold dust and about a million shot glasses which your typical teetotal-ling muslim family will never find a use for, all sandblasted with something along the line of “Thank you for sharing with us the day we finally get to shag without incurring hell-fire.”

With all of that in mind, we decided on something a bit more utilitarian. But even utilitarian needs to look a bit pretty and flouncy for a wedding. Which is why mum and I were squashed in the corner of the overstocked shop digging through a box falling over with organza circles that niftily pull together to form a pretty and flouncy wrapping.

I managed to find something that wasn’t too garish. However, mum wanted the organza with the big gold hearts. Big gold hearts are just ghagha to me. And big gold hearts on wedding favours are the ghagha-est of anything ghagha ever. If you don’t know what ghagha means, think about big gold hearts emblazoned on gold organza, that’s ghagha.

At this point I ducked her and went to look at the cardcraft stuff instead. I shouted over a box of wire-butterflies that I did not want the ghagha gold organza heart wrapping. The chinese lady at the door smiled to herself. Perhaps this was not the first time she had witnessed such mother and daughter exchanges.

My mum insisted. I was incensed.
She had that tone in her voice.
I’m a dutiful daughter.
We compromised.
We walked out with 100 ghagha organza circles printed with big gold hearts.