Tagged: wedding

“We’re Not on the Moon”

  • by jenon the etiquette scale
  • old pal from his carny days
  • , think again.
  • write it in the sky
  • deep and abiding love

Tune in next time part 767      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We’re not on the moon,” I said. “So all this talk of Lunar Law and Lunar customs is irrelevant.” I took Tessa’s hand. “Come on. We don’t have to play along with him.”

Pamplemousse spluttered about how rude I was. According to him I ranked even lower on the etiquette scale than Greasepaint Gus, an old pal from his carny days.

I replied, “If you think I care at all about the Annual Lunar Etiquette Olympics, think again.”

Tessa wiped the frosting off her face with Pamplemousse’s velvet cape and added, “And if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll have the General here order this zeppelin to do some fancy maneuvers and write it in the sky for all to see that the Moon King used to be a carny.”

I beamed at her. Is it any wonder why I have a deep and abiding love for this woman?

Zeus Pamplemousse chuckled darkly. “Under Lunar Law, skywriting gossip is considered an act of war.”

“You can’t just declare something against Lunar Law whenever you’re feeling shirty,” I complained. “The same way you can’t just declare someone your wife.”

“Well, actually,” Tessa said. “He can do that second thing.”

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I Took in the Scene

  • by jensilently wondering
  • he likes to sing along
  • the third weapon
  • fusillade of cheerful inquiries
  • impaled his foot

Tune in next time part 711      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I took in the scene, silently wondering what sort of idiot would install a zeppelin control panel on the dance floor. I decided it was an idiot so idiotic he likes to sing along to songs he doesn’t know the words to. That’s his first weapon: being annoying. His second is failing to understand that he’s not the smartest guy in the room. And the third weapon in this idiot’s arsenal is a fusillade of cheerful inquiries that distracts the actual experts from their jobs and allows something like this to happen. Nay, forces. The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that this was no mere act of stupidity, but one of sabotage!  And I knew just who the saboteur was, too. When we were at the Academy, I impaled his foot with a harpoon during training and he’s never forgiven me (even though I got extra credit for it). He’d followed me throughout my life ever since, threatening me with harpoons (the fourth weapon in his arsenal), stealing my girlfriends, and now, finally, marrying my mother. I didn’t know when he’d had the time to visit the shipyard where Royal Contrarian Airships are built, but it had to be him. John was just the sort of idiot to install a zeppelin control panel on the dance floor of the very airship upon which he would later hold an elaborate wedding reception.

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The Animal Noises Continued Unabated

  • by jen“There are balloons.”
  • thanks for starting me on my career path
  • I’m in love. And speechless.
  • sufficiently versed in the stranger’s system of stenography
  • “Wash your face before you hug your mother,”

Tune in next time part 705      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The animal noises continued unabated until the band reached the chorus, which contained the song’s only lyrics, “There are balloons.” They repeated it a dozen or more times, and got the whole crowd to sing along. The song finally ended with a jubilant cry of “There! Are! Balloons!” as hundreds of golden balloons dropped from the ceiling.

John took up the microphone and gazed at my mother. “It’s my turn to give a toast. I’d like to say thanks for starting me on my career path. If you hadn’t paid my tuition at the Academy, my life would be so different.” He sounded choked up, and had trouble saying the next part. “I’m in love. And speechless.”

“Can you repeat that?” called a woman in the corner. I somehow hadn’t noticed her before. She was dressed like a prim secretary from the 1950s, and sat behind a small typewriter like a court reporter. I didn’t remember stenographers being a part of any Contrarian wedding ceremonies. Honeymoons, sure, but not the ceremony or the reception.

John cleared his throat and repeated his toast as I made my way to the corner. I wanted to see who she was and what she was up to, but I was insufficiently versed in the stranger’s system of stenography to read her notes immediately.

As I tried to puzzle it out, Fleur darted up and smashed a piece of wedding cake into my mouth. She kissed me with frosting-covered lips, then laughed. “Wash your face before you hug your mother,” she said, smearing icing around my mouth like clown makeup.

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My Ceremonial Pajamas were Polka-Dotted

  • by jenGrandma wore a black, beaded, sequined wedding gown
  • I’m going to remember tonight forever
  • describing him as a drunken maniac
  • jack-in-the-box wound to the breaking point
  • joke about having sex with bigfoot

Tune in next time part 703      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My ceremonial pajamas were polka-dotted, and of the footie variety, with a sash for my medals. I hurried to the reception, wondering about the message on the mirror. Was it true? Could the marriage still be stopped?

When I burst into the ballroom, Mother and John were in the process of handing each other small metal tins. I was too late! They’d exchanged snuffboxes! To make things worse, they were surrounded by my many, many children.

Mother looked at the army of babies and said, “I hope you will all remember that Grandma wore a black, beaded, sequined wedding gown, and that she looked damn fine.”

“I know I’m going to remember tonight forever,” said John with a lewd wink.

I tried to push my way through the crowd to reach them, still hoping to somehow stop things. Mother took up a microphone and gave a toast about her new husband, describing him as a drunken maniac who won her heart in a game of snooker. I was so upset I felt like a jack-in-the-box wound to the breaking point, and that was before my mother praised John’s hairy chest and made a joke about having sex with bigfoot.

“Mother!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Not in front of the children!”

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The Groom Turned his Masked Face Back to Me

  • by jenapplied a laser wand
  • “Dad? Daddy?”
  • each guest puts on a pair of pajamas
  • gracious meals and gourmet tastes
  • pretty bananas

Tune in next time part 701      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The groom turned his masked face back to me, threw open his green tuxedo jacket, and gestured extravagantly at the aquarium belt encircling his waist. Muddy green eels swam in circles through his belt loops, past colorful strands of fake plastic seaweed.

“Very nice,” I said. If I understood the tradition correctly, this little show-and-tell meant that I wasn’t going to be stabbed. It was the best I could hope for under the circumstances.

The rest of the ceremony took place in total silence. No music. No speaking. The officiant and the happy couple did the whole thing in pantomime. This was very unlike any of my own weddings. Contrarian rites and ceremonies have dozens of sub-variants depending on multitudinous factors. If I was remembering correctly, a silent wedding meant that neither the bride nor the groom were native-born Contrarians.

After Mother and her beau exchanged earrings, they each applied a laser wand to the wedding certificate, drawing a stick figure man and woman. The officiant took the wand and drew a heart around their doodles, making it all legal.

Fleur appeared beside me. “Are you going to call him Father?” she whispered. “Dad? Daddy?”

“None of the above,” I whispered back.

The officiant glared at us to be quiet. Then he mimed changing his pants while eating something held in his fist. Fleur translated. “Now is the part where each guest puts on a pair of pajamas for the reception. It will be a grand party, in Contrarian tradition, with gracious meals and gourmet tastes, and a table piled high with bunches and bunches of really pretty bananas.”

“Bananas!” A banana buffet at a Contrarian wedding reception meant that the groom was an old friend of the son of the bride, and also bad at cyphers. “It can’t be!”

“I’m afraid it is,” said John, pulling off his mask. “And don’t even think about calling me Papa John.”

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Fleur Turned Me to Face Her

  • by jeneither stab you or laugh
  • I have become used to this propaganda
  • look at his new fish tank
  • apart from its odd shape
  • your telephone’s been ringing

Tune in next time part 697      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur turned me to face her, and took a moment to straighten my uniform. When the silver dove was dangling just so from the brim of my hat, she twisted its beak to switch on the light inside. A deep red glow emanated from the bird’s eyes.

“As the groom walks down the aisle, you must tell a joke. When he reaches the altar, the groom will either stab you or laugh, depending on how good the joke is.”

“Stab me?”

“I rather hope he laughs, but it all depends on the joke.”

“Fleur, I’d like to say I have become used to this propaganda, this ‘Contraria is so extra’ stuff you always say, but–”

“If the groom laughs, you’ll be fine. He’ll invite you to look at his new fish tank belt, which, apart from its odd shape, is just like any other fish tank. The eels swim in circles around his waist. It’s quite something. You will need to compliment it.”

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” a butler said, tapping Fleur on the shoulder. “Your telephone’s been ringing for nearly ten minutes.” He held out a silver tray with Fleur’s phone vibrating noisily on top. She reached for it.

“But who is the groom?” I asked, grabbing her hand. I needed to know how likely it was that the aquarium-belt man would try to stab me. I might be the new leader of the stand-up comedy battalion, but the emphasis was definitely on “new.”

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My Heart Was Neither Open Nor Vulnerable

  • by jenwith a surrealist spirit and a beret
  • but I only have so many middle fingers
  • carrying a rubber dinosaur between them
  • connected to a 1948 zoo escape
  • —that particular blend of anticipation and fear

Tune in next time part 647      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My heart was neither open nor vulnerable, so my attempt at a new surname came with a surrealist spirit and a beret (of the imaginary variety).

“It is not possible to marry three such distinct names verbally,” I said. “I will use the medium of hand gestures, but I only have so many middle fingers, and you’ll need to imagine I am carrying a rubber dinosaur between them.”

As I flipped off the assembled crowd under the guise of a shadow puppet recounting of the gory escapades connected to a 1948 zoo escape, I backed toward the door. Chartreuse and Hildegard raised their own hands, attempting to imitate my motions, while everyone else stared open-mouthed –that particular blend of anticipation and fear that only a good zoo escape story can bring.

As I was about to dart into the corridor and make my getaway, I remembered where I’d seen Dr Ferguson before. I slapped myself on the forehead, and Hildegard and Chartreuse followed suit. Dr Ferguson’s lips twitched.

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Parrot Meat is Often Used as an Aphrodisiac

  • by jenthe right taste and texture
  • even a fairly sexually liberated person
  • head-to-toe velvet
  • sex after a big sloppy meatball sub
  • rub it all over your palms

Tune in next time part 639      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Parrot meat is often used as an aphrodisiac in Contrarian culture because the locals think it has the right taste and texture to stimulate the imagination in ways even a fairly sexually liberated person might find startling. “Parrot fever” was Contrarian slang for “horny,” and just remembering that was more than I wanted to do in front of an old man dressed in head-to-toe velvet. Unbidden, my thoughts turned to depraved acts like having sex after a big sloppy meatball sub, or what it would feel like to take that sub and rub it all over your palms before jumping into bed.

At least it distracted me long enough for my bladder to let go.

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Contrary to What Alfred Hitchcock Would Have You Believe

  • by jenextremely unlikely to do at a hotel
  • decorated with stuffed birds
  • staring at their tight asses and glistening abs
  • “I was very much surprised.”
  • imagine my surprise to receive this photograph of my mother

Tune in next time part 637      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Contrary to what Alfred Hitchcock would have you believe, murder is something most people are extremely unlikely to do at a hotel decorated with stuffed birds, which is why so many in the hospitality industry choose that design motif for their guest rooms. The discomfort in my bladder, though, was so great that I was considering bucking the trend and killing both Hildegard and her father so that I would be able to pee in peace, despite the frozen aviary surrounding me. In a bizarre Bumpengryndian touch, there were as many marble nudes as taxidermy fowl in the honeymoon suite. It was strange to imagine how many couples had spent their first night as a married couple amid these stone Adonises, staring at their tight asses and glistening abs, feeling (probably) inadequate by comparison.

These thoughts distracted me, and I relaxed almost enough to begin urinating. Then Hildegard’s father waved his silk handkerchief in my face, saying, “I was very much surprised.”

I swore under my breath as my bladder slammed shut and my kidneys groaned.

“Did you hear me?” my new father-in-law demanded. “I said I was very much surprised.”

“By what?” I said peevishly. “By the intrusion of virtual strangers into your bathroom?”

“There are no strangers in Bumpengrynd, my boy! No, I was surprised to find this in my mailbox today.” He thrust a large envelope at me. Inside was a salacious snapshot and a folded piece of paper.

He thought he was surprised? Well, imagine my surprise to receive this photograph of my mother dressed in only the bottom half of a Contrarian warlord’s dress uniform. While I sat on the toilet.

I hardly dared read the accompanying note.

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The Disco Artist She was Talking About

  • by jenthat’s just how my throat works
  • sky was a vivid tranquillity of green and yellow
  • elegance without pomp
  • A bear!
  • what kind of fish to put in the moat

Tune in next time part 635      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The disco artist she was talking about was Chartreuse’s brother, Deuce. Deuce Pamplemousse had a huge hit with “Hop on my Caboose.” It was an insidiously catchy number, and once you had it stuck in your head, the only way to exorcise it was to sing a snatch of it backwards. I did that now, hoping to banish the tune before it lodged itself deep in my psyche.

“What was that?” Hildegard demanded. “That noise — is that what you call singing?”

“Don’t get so worked up,” I said. “That’s just how my throat works. I never claimed to be a singer.” I took a deep breath and tried to relax and pee.

“But your twin is America’s number one wedding rapper!” She grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around to face her. “Your identical twin!”

“Rapping is not singing.” I tried to remain calm. I looked out the window where the morning sky was a vivid tranquillity of green and yellow over the fresh snow. The sulfurous emissions from the nearby valley did strange things to the sunlight.

I shrugged away from Hildegard and sat on the toilet. So much for the elegance without pomp that standing urination embodied — I was desperate for release and didn’t care how pompous I looked. My innate elegance would have to carry me through.

Hildegard’s eyes widened in alarm. “What are you doing!”

“I told you I need to go.” My voice sounded more pleading than elegant.

“But, as you Americans say, does not a bear shit in the woods?”

“A bear! Are you calling me a bear? I’m not that hairy. And unless you want to witness what an American does in the bathroom, you’ll give me some privacy.” I didn’t actually have to poop, but Hildegard didn’t have to know that. “Give me five minutes, and then we can talk about whatever you want — what to have for breakfast, what kind of fish to put in the moat, who your favorite disco artist is — anything. But please, five minutes.”

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