Tasnim, Aunt of the Bride
Don’t misunderstand me. I think this is a lovely wedding week. Tasteful, thoughtful. Luma is such a dear putting us up in these wonderful accommodations.
But when I think about the sheer cost of all of this, I can’t help but shake my head.
Take, for example, the floral arrangements.
They swap out new ones for each event. Surely that alone is a year’s mortgage for some of us.
I heard they flew in the dholki drummers first class from Toronto.
And between the welcome bags, the Tiffany key chains, and all the other favors, we’re talking thousands of dollars per guest. It’s not just wasteful to flaunt one’s wealth like this—it can draw the wrong kind of attention.
Take that woman Gita, for instance. That nurse.
She is certainly helpful. Always hovering at Frida’s side.
Ready to address any issue. But might one wonder if she’s a touch too helpful?
Have you noticed how Frida clings to her every word?
She won’t take a step without her permission.
It’s painful to watch a woman of such standing reduced to this.
And I’m sorry to say it’s the perfect setup for someone less than trustworthy to step in and take advantage.
I tried telling Lulu, but she waved me off. Called Gita a saint. I debated approaching Hena—she’s the elder daughter, after all—but that girl is too busy with her romantic escapades to see what’s happening right under her nose.
It’s a shame money can’t protect us from poor decisions. I suppose wealth makes fools of us all. Some sooner than others.