I’ve been spending my days lately waiting to get married.
On Monday, I hung around the house and waited to get married.
On Tuesday, I hung around the house, did some laundry, and waited to get married.
And today, I brushed my teeth, and I’m still waiting to get married.
I never knew waiting to get married could take up so much of a man’s time.
I keep myself occupied one way or another. The crossword puzzle. Sudoku. And now, yes, the World Cup.
I thought that having the World Cup scheduled right before my wedding was a wonderful idea. Gives me a great way to pass by the days.
However, I reckoned without the vuvuzela.
Give one guy a vuvuzela, it’s some kind of Kodak moment.
Give 5,000 crazy South Africans vuvuzelas, you’ve got an angry beehive.
They emit a sound so loud that it’s been linked to hearing loss. Ear plugs are the hottest commodity in South Africa these days.
Players are angry because they can’t concentrate on the field, and can’t get any rest at the hotel because of the “instruments.”
It makes watching at home a trifle annoying, and watching at a sports bar nearly intolerable. They’ve had to keep the matches muted in order to keep their patrons from clutching their ears in pain.
South Africans are equally angry about the rest of the world not respecting their culture.
“We’re the hosts and we’ll do whatever we want,” seems to be their attitude. It’s like being stuck in the back seat of the car with your annoying kid brother on a road trip.
If they keep it up, I’ll be ready for this trip to be over. Hope they don’t bring it along next vacation.
Facebook group against vuvuzelas. (250,000 people and counting)