I look around and see a few occupied tables, but the place is otherwise empty.
Why? Oh, right. A bomb went off this afternoon.
I draw my attention back to our table; my friends are still teasing me: “What? No yelling? Isn’t there a theory you want to lecture us on?”
“No, I won’t yell or lecture you. Whatever I do won’t make a difference because you’re all incapable of emotions and my lecturing you won’t do any good either because you’re all spineless idiots.”
Zeezee: “Gee!”
Shwikar: “Merci!”
Zumurrud: “Okay, okay. What did you want to say about amoeba? We’re all ears.”
I pout, “Nothing.”
Zeezee: “Are you seriously going to get mad at us over amoeba?”
I relent, “Fine. Do you remember what an amoeba is?”
They nod and stare at me with attention.
“Well, I feel like an amoeba. Good for nothing but capable of anything.”
Shwikar: “Hmmm.”
Me: “Hmmm? I’m going home.”
Zumurrud: “No, no, stay. Come on! Let’s get drunk tonight!”
Me: “You do that. I’m going . . .”
Zeezee, pouting: “You’re going to what?”
Me: “Going to order vodka seven.”
Zeezee, screaming: “The finest 7Up in the house!”
We laugh then chat about various things. A short and sweet conversation about security followed by a quick plan for the weekend, then complaints about lovers. Everyone had their turn and then we had more drinks.
Breaking news: our friend Nahimeh is getting married on Friday, two days from now.
The debate of the evening: should we go?
Finally! A topic I can lecture on.
Listen up people: weddings are big business. In the eighties, my parents used to go to the market and look for a gift to suit the bride and groom or their new house. They would get a dozen crystal glasses for example if they heard that the happy couple hadn’t bought any yet. They would also consider buying a painting from an established artist who they trusted because he was a family member, but then they would change their minds and not buy any of his paintings because they didn’t like his taste.
Then, of course, they would find themselves at a loss. A total loss.
Gossip about the couple receiving the same gifts would spread like wildfire in Beirut.
And my parents would then hear from a trusted source that the guests were wasting their money on things that the couple had no need for. And they would hear talk of the trouble the couple had to go through to exchange the gifts because, when you get right down to it, they’re about to get married, and exchanging gifts is not part of their exciting plans. Yeah, gifts sure can trouble newlyweds when they’re meant to make them happy.
That’s when my great aunt came up with the idea of the gold lira.
The gold lira always has value. If the newlyweds choose to hold onto it as a memento, they could. And if they choose to invest it, it would be easy for them to sell it and buy whatever they want with the money, without frustrating the hell out of the guests with what to get them as a wedding gift.
The gold lira was all the rage in Beirut back then.
This gift has since evolved according to gold’s stock value and to the relationship between the couple and the guests: one gold lira will suffice if the bride is the daughter of a friend, two liras if she’s the daughter of a close friend, three for a paternal or maternal cousin, or more, or less. Bottom line is that one must keep in mind that the value of a gold lira is not stable (and the lira could weigh up to an ounce, be it an Ottoman lira or an English gold coin).
Days passed and times changed bit by bit, and after many complaints about wedding presents and considering that not all guests could afford a gold lira anymore, La Liste de Mariage (the wedding list) was created.
The couple lists the things they need from a specific furniture store or wherever, and all that guests have to do then is browse these stores one day (one long day) and choose the gift that fits their budget and taste.
It was a nice compromise that preserved the sentimental aspect of the tradition, despite the obvious materialism.
Consumerism, however, came back with a force on a mission to destroy whatever sentiments were left in the Liste de Mariage arrangement. And so, Le Compte de Mariage (the wedding account) was created: So now I am going to give our friend Mona here a hundred dollars to deposit in Hassan and Nahimeh’s shared account under my name. Mona volunteered to go to the bank tomorrow and deposit all our gifts for us.
Quick and easy.
Money in the bank.
Everybody’s happy.
Long live materialism.
Except . . .
When you’ve created a monster, you aren’t guaranteed control over its offspring: La Liste du Bébé (the baby list).
Okay, it is the same concept as the wedding list, which preserves the sentimental side of this arrangement but leads to the question of how many planned life events one has to worry about, and why this lack of interaction with the newlyweds and their children?
And from the baby’s list came Le Compte du Bébé (the baby account) and once again sentiments went out the window.
So, it’s either that people really need all the financial support they can get to get married and have children, or they just can’t seem to find enough occasions to exchange fiduciary gifts.
“Compte du Bébé?”
At that point in my lecture, Georgina arrives, who’s our very chic friend and our own gateway to the richest in the country and their parties. She jumps right into the conversation, declaring that she has new information to chip in:
Georgina was invited to
