My holiday weekend was incredibly busy, hence no bloggity. I had plenty of cute niece cuddle time, and I went to see "The Producers" -- which is hilarious, even without Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick -- and also hung out with one of my cousins for a while. And then there was The Wedding (tm). My friend, A, got married on Sunday, and Friday night, she had a traditional mehndi night. Mehndi is the art of decorating oneself with henna -- and I say oneself because pretty much the henna goes anywhere you want it to go. I got both of my palms done, but some people did their feet, or wrists or upper arm. Backs of the hands were fair game as well.
The henna, which is mixed into a texture similar to mud, is squeezed onto your favored body part with a cone (similar to what you'd use to decorate a cake). The result is a ridged-design of mud, that is hardened with sugar and lemon water. However, once the henna has been put on, it's there for the long haul -- anywhere from four to 12 hours (the latter, in my case). The longer you wait to take it off, incidentally, the richer and deeper the color is.
The last time I got this done was more than a decade ago, and I think I had it done well after dinner and just before bed. This time, I had my hands done around 7:30 and dinner hadn't been served yet. By the time I figured my conumdrum out, it was too late. The mehndi lady had my money and I had beautifully decorated, albeit useless, hands. There's something seriously weird about having to be spoon-fed dinner, and then having to ask someone to scratch the back of your neck (we won't even talk about the drama of getting ready for bed, which, btw, included a very sketchy un-recommended for you by 9 out of 10 eye doctors, contact lense removal procedure).
In addition to not being able to buckle my own seatbelt or even unbutton my own pants, I went to sleep with plastic grocery bags wrapped around my hands. During the night, the bags -- which are so not breathable -- get wet with perspiration, and then there's the gritty mud on your hands; I could feel the henna flaking off and mixing with the water and every time I moved my hands, water sloshed all over the bag. I had no idea my hands could sweat so much. It's an understatement to say it was rather difficult to sleep.
First thing in the morning, I stumbled down the stairs, plastic bag coated hands outstretched in front of me Frankenstein-style. "Take it off," I whimpered. My mother used a butter knife to scrape off the dried henna and then a mixture of vegetable oil and water. It was a rather strange experience, but the results, as you can see, were well-worth the trauma:
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