(Editor’s note: This is part of a recurring series of personal narratives by Gurjevan Bansal, a staff writer who will be sharing glimpses of her own unique life experiences. Any opinions expressed are not necessarily those of The Saber staff.)

“HONK HONK.” Get in losers, it’s time to go on a road trip.

Be careful! India’s roads are very confusing, if you don’t see any cars going your same direction then you are on the wrong side of the road. Traffic is bad, so bad that you get the opportunity to yell at the randos in front of you. Everyone is speeding, so at least you get to your destination quicker. (Warning: you may get a concussion from banging your head against the roof of the car, due to the rocky roads.)

Other than that, reaching a country, where all of your relatives live, is great. You spend the first week greeting random people that you barely know. It’s funny because they take so much offense if you don’t know who they are. Lady, I just got here, I’m spending like four weeks checking up on an Uncle’s health, and going to a wedding. I’m not here for you, please, if you need validation, go argue with your husband for some.

A lot of random aunties, and I mean random, like they’re not actually related to you, like to stop by and say stuff like, “Aww, come on, you can remember me. I held your hand when you were two years old. Yeah, that was me.” Why would I remember you? You can barely remember when to brush your teeth, you think I can remember something you did over a decade ago? No.

That’s pretty much how the first couple of days went; doing meet and greet stuff. I’m not a fan of family reunions, but I definitely like when my parents say all this nice and sweet stuff about how I’m a good child and how much I help them, as a way to show off how well they have raised their child to be (…even though they barely say that stuff at home.) I learned that my aunt, Raj, from my dad’s side, is an amazing person. I liked my dad’s side so much that I made a family tree for them, since they’re much better than my mom’s side of the family. If you’re from India, you know.

Skip a couple of days and you get into wedding preparations. We, meaning my mom, two little sisters and my aunt, went to this store called “Big Depot,” and we bought four different pairs of Indian dresses. We bought two different types of shoes, and then we bought accessories to put on. It was really fun, and all the sun made me look like a burnt potato. In the dresses, I looked like a baked potato sprinkled with chives. Delicious.

We decided to get tailored suits because we must have felt fancy or something. We got our measurements taken, picked out some simple wedding dress designs, decided what we wanted, and when we were going to come and pick up the dresses. All that boring dress stuff, what did you expect we did? Smoke weed? Yeah no, can’t spice up something that’s completely boring. 0/10 experience, I fell asleep mid way, with my mouth wide open, and I swear a fly flew inside because I tasted something salty. (No it’s not me.)

Then we waited one day.

And another day.

And then it was time to go try them on again to see if they fit.

Guess what?

None of the dresses fit. The tailor had one job and he couldn’t even do it right. How in the world is this dress that you took my measurements for too tight on the neck, had strings falling out of it, barely any elastic in the belt, and not even go past my chest? How does one person get so incompetent.

So we, meaning my aunt who also happened to be a tailor, told him that he sucked and waited another two days for him to fix the problems. We went to try them on, and guess what?

They still didn’t fit. How wonderful. You’re the reason, they say the third time’s the charm.

We had one day left until the wedding, so my auntie got mad at the guy and told him to loosen up the stitchings. That’s what he did. (Yes, he finally used his ears and listened to what we were saying.) We were able to get them the day before the wedding.

That night I went to have the most uncomfortable sleep I have ever had. I wake up the next morning, and…I’m sick. I feel like I smoked crack so hard that it dried up my throat. I felt like I was being punched by the mighty hands of god, (is this what giving birth feels like?) My voice was so deep that I started to sound like Pop Smoke.

All that work and I didn’t even attend the first day of the wedding. Yay. I always knew I was allergic to stupidity, I guess it got to me.