Tagged: wedding

When Your Bladder is Really Really Full

  • by jenwhere your imagination goes
  • took up napkin folding
  • and that is not what I do at all
  • but that’s only true if you’re cold
  • as big as golfballs

Tune in next time part 633      Click Here for Earlier Installments

When your bladder is really really full, but you can’t relax enough to pee because there’s a crazed woman lurking behind you with a puppet, it’s amazing the places where your imagination goes. The last time it happened to me, back at the Academy, my mind took up napkin folding. Creating intricate origami animals out of linen squares is very complicated, and that is not what I do at all in my day-to-day life, but in that instance it worked to distract me from my angry bathroom companion and I was able to attain the relief I sought. Hildegard’s enraged panting was too intrusive for that trick to work for me today, though.

“I’m having a little trouble here,” I told her. “Please give me a minute of privacy.”

“A little trouble?” She looked at my crotch. “Shrinkage? But that’s only true if you’re cold. And anyway, they’re as big as golfballs and a seven iron right now. I’d hate to see them when they weren’t giving you a little trouble.” She smirked. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t *hate* it.”

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“I’ve Had Too Much Champagne”

  • by jen“You have to pee?”
  • using an old-school latex puppet
  • ideal for your most intimate moments
  • wearing the couples’ shoes while they slept
  • party where I met Jim

Tune in next time part 629      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I’ve had too much champagne,” I told Hildegard. “And I’m about to burst.”

“You have to pee?”

I nodded as I slid off the pudding-slicked bed, heading for the ensuite. Hildegard followed right behind me. Even after what we’d spent the past hours doing, this felt presumptuous of her. “Gimme some privacy,” I grumbled.

“But in Bumpengrynd, it’s customary for your wife to help you aim, using an old-school latex puppet, of course, for sanitary purposes.”

I stopped and stared. Surely she couldn’t be serious.

“On a honeymoon, it’s ideal for your most intimate moments to be shared. It builds a deep connection.”

I swatted the puppet out of her hand. “What about Chartreuse Pamplemousse? Isn’t he the one you really want to build an intimate connection with?”

“Obviously. But he’s not here. And anyway, things are different in a plural marriage. Only two members of a wedded throuple may sleep at the same time, while the third spouse confuses any eavesdroppers by wearing the couples’ shoes while they slept.”

“While they sleep.”

“That’s what I said.”

I let it go. English wasn’t her first language. “I would prefer to pee alone, and since you and I aren’t actually married, I’m going to go ahead and do that.”

“Of course we’re married, much as we both might wish otherwise. The officiant signed the document, and if I learned anything at that party where I met Jim, it’s that you Americans are sticklers for official documents.”

“Wait,” I said. “You know Jim? My brother Jim?”

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Exhausted and Glazed with Butterscotch Pudding

  • by jengot a little gift of his own
  • (only purple)
  • drifting unguided and unmanned
  • a bit flummoxed
  • with each passing hour

Tune in next time part 627      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Exhausted, and glazed with butterscotch pudding, I stared at Hildegard as she did her best Bob Barker impression in the purple honeymoon suite. “Here’s your chance to win a brand! new! car!” We’d been at this for hours. First she’d spoon up the pudding, then we’d play a price-guessing game, then we’d fornicate — before starting the whole process over again. Early on, the bellhop delivered our wedding gifts on a luggage cart, and got a little gift of his own when Hildegard answered the door naked. She’d let him choose one of the purple-wrapped boxes of pudding as his tip. All the presents were pudding, and all were wrapped in purple, to match the decor of the entire hotel. It was like King Midas had strolled through, running his hands over everything and turning it to gold. (Only purple). I felt like my metaphors weren’t working very well, like my mind was drifting unguided and unmanned in an amethyst sea. All the purple and all the butterscotch had me a bit flummoxed, and my flummoxation grew with each passing hour and each passing Showcase Showdown.

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Though Hildegard’s Vows Weren’t in English

  • by jenAs a former boarding school kid
  • desk lamp selected by the head of the architectural department
  • reduce human-camel conflicts
  • “You don’t trust him?”
  • all traces of its natural color were obliterated by ink stains

Tune in next time part 625      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Though Hildegard’s vows weren’t in English, I understood them easily. As a former boarding school kid, I was fluent in several languages long-considered dead. In my youth I spent many a night hunched over my linguistics manuals, reading by the light of a desk lamp selected by the head of the architectural department to reduce human-camel conflicts in our desert oasis compound. If the polo team’s camels didn’t get enough sleep they were very cranky, and no one likes a cranky camel.

When it was my turn to speak, I leaned in to whisper in Hildegard’s ear. “The officiant knows this is a proxy wedding, yes?”

“You don’t trust him?” Her greasepaint mustache quirked.

“I don’t want to accidentally become a bigamist.” My greasepaint eyebrows, a good inch above my real eyebrows, smeared as my forehead furrowed.

“His tongue!” The officiant cried, pointing at my mouth. “All traces of its natural color were obliterated by ink stains! Golden ink stains!”

I wondered what about my tongue tattoo so upset the man. *He* didn’t have to endure the pain of having it applied.

“When He of the Golden Tongue speaks in a Bumpengryndian ceremony it is immediately binding!”

“Now just wait a minute,” I said.

“The Golden Tongue has spoken! You are wed!”

“Hey,” complained Hildegard. “What about Chartreuse Pamplemousse?”

“Chartreuse Pamplemousse is wedded to the both of you. He of the Golden Tongue hath decreed it.”

I wanted to protest, but was afraid of who else I might end up married to if I opened my mouth.

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We Soon Arrived at Hildegard’s Father’s Home

  • by jenI feel like a ghost
  • preparing and circulating false documents
  • Flip out about this, won’t you?
  • phantom limb pain
  • I’m starting to FREAK out

Tune in next time part 623      Click Here for Earlier Installments

We soon arrived at Hildegard’s father’s home, a low-slung stone building that sprawled across several acres. “I feel like a ghost,” I said. “No matter what I say, you both ignore me.” They continued to ignore me as they bustled about, preparing and circulating false documents to arrange the proxy wedding.

Outside the snow was falling thickly again, making escape an unappealing option. I tried to contact Fleur telepathically in hopes she would deny their bizarre request. “I’m your husband,” I thought at her across the miles. “Flip out about this, won’t you?”

But Fleur did not flip out. Permission was granted, with the ceremony scheduled for that very evening. While Hildegard busied herself with last-minute arrangements, she locked me in the guest wing, a series of small, interconnected rooms with no windows and only one entrance. I walked around the whole space, rapping on the walls, searching for a way out. I felt even more like a ghost, haunting this wretched house, and I did so much rapping that I gave myself phantom limb pain in my knuckles.

A few hours later, Hildegard unlocked the door and handed me a garment bag. “Get dressed,” she ordered. “The ceremony is in five minutes and I’m starting to FREAK out! It’s going to be so awesome to be married to Dr Chartreuse Pamplemousse!” I was afraid to look at my outfit, as Hildegard’s gown seemed to consist entirely of long strands of red and silver tinsel that hung from a band around her neck and draped all the way to the floor, with arms and hips and nipples poking out here and there as she moved.

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“Listen, Hildegard”

  • by jensoulmates and unicorns and all that jazz
  • Mars is like Manhattan
  • which fork to use
  • three waffle irons
  • send coded nasty messages to family members

Tune in next time part 621      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Listen, Hildegard,” I said. “I don’t believe in soulmates and unicorns and all that jazz, but I also don’t want two wives. The one I have is more than enough.”

“Pish posh,” Hildegard replied. “How can you say you only have one wife, when everyone knows you’re married to both Fleur and Isolde?”

“That was a proxy wedding. I was merely standing in for Harry.”

While we squabbled, Hildegard dragged me along the street, and I dragged her father who was still clinging to my elbow. We passed a hotel, the only two-story building I’d yet seen on the island, and Hildegard said, “We’ll have the reception there. It will be lovely. Provincial though it may be, in many ways Twerkistan is like Mars, and in many ways Mars is like Manhattan. At a fancy wedding reception you never know which fork to use, and by the time all the presents arrive you have at least three waffle irons and four toasters, and you use the Thank You notes to send coded nasty messages to family members who went rogue and bought gifts that weren’t on the registry.”

“Busy though she may be, Fleur would skin us both if we married without her permission.”

“Then I’ll get permission. Daddy will wire her and demand that you act as proxy for the son of Zeus Pamplemousse. Everyone will be happy.”

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The Hand-Painted Pornographic Butterflies

  • by jenfigure out where to put my fingertips
  • “You’re in trouble Kemosabe,”
  • trip to Hot Topic could sort you out
  • he would learn of my sexuality
  • your feet were just innocent bystanders

Tune in next time part 565    Click Here for Earlier Installments

The hand-painted pornographic butterflies flitting around my head were such a distraction I had trouble picking up the microphone. I couldn’t figure out where to put my fingertips, or my thumb. Svengorgian AV equipment is very confusing.

“You’re in trouble Kemosabe,” Tessa said with a smirk.

My palms got sweaty, making the microphone even harder to grip. “You’re in trouble, Kemosabe” was Jason’s fastest, most tongue-twisting rap, and now that the bride herself had requested it there was no way I could get out of performing it. Why was she being so devilishly cruel?

I launched into it. “A trip to Hot Topic could sort you out. You could freshen up your wardrobe without a doubt. The clerk — he would learn of my sexuality, and, Kemosabe, he would give you all those clothes for free!”

That was the easy part. The warm up. I started to feel the flow, and was rapping smoothly until I got to the part about trying on boots and forgot what rhymed with “your feet were just innocent bystanders.”

I tried to improv it, but the whole wedding crowd was staring at me. Which they had probably already been doing since I was performing on stage, but I couldn’t be sure. Did they look more hostile than usual?

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“There You Are, Arlo”

  • by jenit’s not really hypnosis
  • makes choo-choo noises
  • famous for being stubborn
  • in ill-fitted clothes
  • both sucking on lollipops

Tune in next time part 563    Click Here for Earlier Installments

“There you are, Arlo,” the new arrival said, looking at Jason who was now dressed as me dressed as the Viscount. It was the best man who had earlier given the roasty toast. “That was some bachelor party last night! If you’re lucky, I won’t tell Tessa all the details. But you know what they say, it’s not really hypnosis unless someone makes choo-choo noises when he hears the magic word.” He sneered and said, “Avocado!” while pointing at Jason.

My brother is famous for being stubborn about only making train sounds when they were integral to his raps, and for a moment I thought we might be found out. But with a painful-looking eyeroll he began hooting like a steam engine in ill-fitted clothes and a ridiculous red wig.

The best man guffawed.

Jason might not get an opportunity to check out the honeymoon suite’s bathroom, but that was his problem. As long as he had this guy distracted I could make my getaway. As I ducked through the door the locomotive breathing stopped. I glanced back over my shoulder at the ersatz Viscount and his attendant and saw them both sucking on lollipops.

I shuddered. That was not something I would want to do in a bathroom.

Now all I had to do was steal the bride away from her wedding reception and find a way off this pirate-infested island.

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“Just how drunk are you?”

  • by jenthe kind of tipsy where I should want to hug everyone
  • I’ll be using your name
  • filled a room with balloons
  • suspended above that giant cocktail glass
  • “Oh, it *smells* like chocolate, too!”

Tune in next time part 561    Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Just how drunk are you?” I asked my brother.

He lisp-whispered back, “I’m not drunk. I’m the kind of tipsy where I should want to hug everyone, but have you seen these guests? No, thank you!”

“When will you take the stage?” I hoped to be able to make my getaway while he had everyone entranced.

“I won’t be,” he lispered. “Instead, I’ll be using your name, Arlo, to check into the honeymoon suite. The hotel staff filled a room with balloons for the happy couple, all of them inflated with air from the Svenborgian Alps. In the bathroom there is a bathtub shaped like a martini glass, and suspended above that giant cocktail glass is a bubblebath dispenser. It might seem a little weird, because the liquid is brown and looks like chocolate syrup. But it makes you look like you have a great tan.” He grabbed a forkful of my dubious dessert. “Oh, it smells like chocolate, too!”

I was familiar with Svenborgian fauxcocoa and its mildly hallucinogenic properties. If the woman beside me had been the real Tessa, I would have been disappointed not to partake with her. As it was, Jason was welcome to it. As long as as I had an opportunity to escape the island.

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All This Talk of Limericks

  • by jentantamount to intellectual masturbation
  • big buttery buns
  • it would be embarrassing
  • you experience rapid hair growth
  • in a tartan frock

Tune in next time part 559     Click Here for Earlier Installments

All this talk of limericks reminded me that the woman beside me was not the real Tessa, but merely a robot duplicate. The real Tessa hates limericks. She considers reciting them tantamount to intellectual masturbation. No matter how much the Tessabot looked like the woman I loved, I couldn’t forget the truth. The big buttery buns beneath this wedding costume were not the big buttery buns I pined for, and it would be embarrassing to be so caught up in surface appearances that I forgot that.

I squared my shoulders and cut the “cake.” I closed my eyes and opened my mouth so the Tessabot could feed me a bite. I shuddered. The cake tasted like some foul concoction that would make you experience rapid hair growth in places where you don’t want hair. I was able to spit it into a napkin unchewed, but my tongue was now numb. The Tessabot happily chewed and swallowed her mouthful, more evidence that she was not the woman I loved.

At that moment Jason arrived in a tartan frock, carrying a platter upon which rested a goose, also in a tartan frock.

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