If you grew up Greek in the ’80s through ’90s, you know there was always a wedding, an engagement party, or some kind of “celebration of the family’s eternal gossip cycle.” Always. Every Sunday. Without fail.

We were dragged into halls that smelled like souvlaki, cheap hairspray, and broken dreams.We were young then—too young to understand the true horror—but our older cousins? Hamboulla, Pantelitsa, and Tasoulla? They were on a mission. Three names so aggressively Greek you could almost taste the feta and halloumi just by saying them out loud.

Bless them, really, bless them—but imagine Cinderella’s Ugly Stepsisters, fed on souvlaki, rice pudding, koulourakia, and three decades of “my mother’s hand-me-down logic,” released into a world of shoulder pads, sequins, and perm machines. Short. Round. Noses crooked enough to open wine bottles. Backsides so wide Heathrow could’ve installed runway lights on them. These were our cousins.

The Cousins’ Confidence

Oh, the confidence! They waddled into weddings like Victoria’s Secret models—if Victoria’s Secret meant “industrial-strength Spanx and three plates of moussaka.” Every Greek man under 40? Desperate to marry them. Reality check: the men weren’t looking at them—they were looking around them, dodging lampposts like pedestrians in a hurricane.

So they tried harder. Tossed lacquered hair. Batted crooked noses. Shouted “OPA!” into unsuspecting ears. Shoved baklava into mouths. And then stared. Stared with the intensity of a hawk wearing false eyelashes, a stare so serious it could intimidate a full wedding buffet into silence.

No takers. Nada. Not even the second cousins imported from the village for the weekend. And the only explanation? “Ah, he must be gay.”

The Dancing Disaster

Then came the dancing. Oh, the dancing. Forget traditional Greek steps or dainty movements—these cousins had reinvented gravity. Picture them wiggling and stomping to a bizarre fusion of 90s English pop hits (“Wannabe,” “Barbie Girl,” and any Spice Girls track you could name) while simultaneously Greekifying every move. Imagine a sirtaki mashed with the Macarena, mixed with a questionable attempt at the running man.

Their arms flailed like helicopter blades. Their hips spun like washing machines on overdrive. The audience? Captivated. Potential suitors? Spellbound—but mostly confused, torn between awe and mild terror. Every stomp and shimmy seemed to say, “Yes, we may be slightly terrifying, but we are available… and irresistible… in a very confusing Greek-English fusion way.”

Weddings became arenas, the dance floor their stage, and every move a declaration: “We may defy physics, fashion, and common sense—but we demand to be seen!

Gossip: The Olympic Sport

Ah, the gossip. And let me be clear—our cousins weren’t passive participants. Oh no. They were the engines of gossip, the generals of rumor, the absolute commanders of conversational chaos. If they saw a beautiful girl walk by—even a girl whose Greek-ness was “questionable at best”—their gossip engines immediately went into overdrive. Eyes narrowed. Lips pursed. Fingers pointed. Every whispered “Did you see her?” became a tactical operation, escalating rapidly into full-blown analysis:

• “Her hair! Too blonde! Definitely dyed! Shame on her mother!”

• “Those shoes! Imported! Can’t be trusted!”

• “Her smile! Way too wide! Probably hides scandalous secrets!

• “Dress above the knee? National emergency!”

Other wedding guests watched, mesmerized, some horrified, some secretly grateful for the live entertainment. Potential suitors? Utterly confused. No man could survive this level of analytical scrutiny without reconsidering his entire life.

Even a slight Greek accent—or lack thereof—triggered them. They had algorithms in their heads: Greek heritage + facial symmetry + dance potential = gossip multiplier. The results? Absolute mayhem. No statement escaped their lips without causing a ripple effect: a cousin whispered, and the rumour spread faster than ouzo at a wedding table.

In short: the cousins were the gossip. The gossip was them.

The Diets That Made History

Ah, the diets. Every Monday, without fail, our cousins began their legendary regimen. It was like clockwork: the alarm bells of Weight Watchers themselves would shudder at the mere sight of them approaching. In fact, the local branch reportedly locked their doors whenever the cousins appeared, knowing full well that no nutritional rules could contain their ambitions.

The intermittent fasting? A comedic masterpiece. At best, it lasted a mere two hours—barely enough to sip a frappé—before the cousins unleashed themselves upon an unsuspecting buffet. Cakes, baklava, chocolate logs? All devoured with Olympic-level precision. One cousin reportedly inhaled a whole chocolate cake while maintaining perfect eye contact with her gossip rivals, as if to say, “Yes. I can.”

Celebrations for losing just one pound were broadcast across the Greek and Cypriot gossip networks, instantly trending long before the concept of “going viral” was even invented. Rumor has it that a Greek male cousin, known as “The Gossip Oracle,” claimed to have invented viral content just to document these Monday feats.

Diet logs, fasting hours, and cheat-day triumphs became legendary tales, whispered in kitchens, shouted across weddings, and meticulously analyzed by the auntie tribunal. No calorie went unaccounted for. No cake went uneaten. Every gram lost? Immortalized in Greek-English history.

In short: the cousins didn’t just diet—they performed a full-blown spectacle of hunger, strategy, and absurdity, terrifying dietitians and captivating anyone unlucky enough to be in the same room.

Fishy Helen: The Cousins’ Hero and Ultimate Gossip Obsession

Then there was Fishy Helen—born in the early ’60s, already a legend by the time the cousins were learning to sneak baklava at weddings. She was revolutionary simply by existing. One of the first Greek girls to become a hairdresser instead of working in her father’s fish shop. Fat? Extremely. Confident? Impossibly. Smelled like cod? Definitely. You could smell her from a mile away.

For our cousins, Helen was both a hero and a target of relentless fascination. They hated her and loved her simultaneously. Every Greek male at the wedding knew her story—and the cousins made sure to spread it, gossiping endlessly about her exploits, her lost virginity, and the scandalous freedom with which she flaunted herself. 

The cousins feared Helen’s “revolutionary aura” might somehow reach them. They sprayed extra perfume into their hairdos and even doused their fanoulla—as they politely called their sacred apparatus—just in case the prophecy of losing their virginity prematurely became reality.

Helen’s audacity was unmatched: she married no one, worked her own hours, dyed her hair shocking colours, and dared to exist outside Greek patriarchal expectations. She became a living symbol for the cousins’ admiration, envy, and infinite chatter.

Closing Thoughts: Sequins, Baklava, and Legendary Chaos

Through all the sequins, baklava shoving, intermittent fasting, and cod-scented revolutions, one truth emerges: no cousins were harmed in the making of this article. Every dance floor earthquake, every gossip session, every hair-dye explosion was carried out with only mild emotional trauma—and a lot of laughter.

The weddings continued. The diets started every Monday without fail. Weight Watchers once closed its doors in terror when the cousins appeared, while intermittent fasting windows were timed so precisely that they could devour entire cakes, baklava platters, and chocolate logs before anyone even noticed. Every lost pound was immediately broadcast on the Greek-Cypriot gossip forum, achieving levels of virality that predated Instagram by decades.

Fishy Helen, the cod-scented heroine, continued to inspire awe, envy, and endless discussion. The cousins, despite their jealousy and scheming, secretly loved her, admired her revolutionary independence, and feared her legendary presence—and yes, this fueled even more gossip.

In the end, the Greekified cousins, their Olympic-level mothers, and every scandalous auntie remain immortalized in family mythology. Chaos reigns. Gossip thrives. Sequins sparkle. And baklava—thankfully—never goes unfed.

With the Love OPA OPA.