Tagged: wedding

The Pumpkin Spice Latte M&Ms were Legends

  • by jenjust hit the Slip N Slide
  • it was a luxurious bungalow
  • volcanic sunsets
  • the wife in question was, at least in an abstract sense, *his* wife
  • otherwise it might jump out of your hand

Tune in next time part 525      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Pumpkin Spice Latte M&Ms were legends on the professional karaoke circuit. Excellent as I was at belting out crowd favorites, if I was going up against the PSLM² (as they were known to their fans), I might as well forfeit and just hit the Slip N Slide. But these dudes were not the real PSLM².

“I’ve met the PSLM²,” I said. “The PSLM² are good friends of mine.” This was an exaggeration, but I was trying to make a point. “And you, sirs, are no PSLM².”

They all froze. The cowboy’s eyes got wide, and he suddenly turned and ran, disappearing behind a nearby building. It was a luxurious bungalow painted the color of volcanic sunsets. The rest of the imposters looked sheepishly at each other.

I fixed them with my most intimidating General’s stare. “Explain yourselves.”

The imposter imitation cop said, “It was all Henry’s idea. He’s the cowboy you just scared off. You see, there’s this wedding reception, and the wife in question was, at least in an abstract sense, his wife, at least until she met this new fella. And so Henry thought that if he could just get into her wedding reception, maybe he could win her back. And the rest of us are just his coworkers at the accounting firm.” He wrung his hands together. “Please don’t report us.”

I softened my glare. “I’m not going to report you. Relax your grip on that microphone, otherwise it might jump out of your hand. All I want to do is sing YMCA and I’ll be on my way.”

“That’s great news,” the construction worker said. “Because we have limited time to finish our soundcheck before Jason gets his turn. I’m sure you’ve heard of Jason. He’s America’s #1 wedding rapper!”

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“Harry,” Isolde Said Warningly

  • by jenwait for it to burn itself out
  • undoubtedly he had been
  • I have and it’s not fun.
  • his loins captivated by her sheer roundness
  • with an hour or so to kill

Tune in next time part 377      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Harry,” Isolde said warningly, “ignore the jealousy that enflames your heart and wait for it to burn itself out. The General has always performed his duties well and faithfully, even before he achieved his rank.”

Her husband spluttered. “I’m certain he had been biding his time, waiting for his chance with you.”

“Undoubtedly he had been.” Isolde laid her hand on his froggy cheek. “And if you hadn’t been so seasick you would have been present for our wedding. It’s certainly not the General’s fault he was called upon to act as your proxy. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.”

Harry’s broad face turned bright red. He snorted through his nose. “Have you ever vomited during a marriage ceremony, Isolde? I have and it’s not fun. Not fun at all!”

Isolde gasped. “You’ve been married before?”

“It didn’t count,” Harry said, paling. “Because of the vomiting. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how strict Contrarian law is about such things. If the groom vomits, the marriage is annulled, and due to double jeopardy it can never be redone. The groom’s brother or uncle must step in and wed the bride, and the vomiting groom may never bed her, even if his loins, captivated by her sheer roundness, are on the point of bursting.”

While this minor soap opera played out mere feet from us, Fleur began to move atop me again, at the stately pace of someone with an hour or so to kill. The Frenchman had not reacted as she had anticipated, most likely due to the distraction Isolde and Harry provided. Was that part of her plan? I tried to ask her, without using words.

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As Isolde Led Me

  • by Kentand that’s all I’ve ever known
  • last night after dinner
  • Despite months of rehearsal
  • where I will inflate my balloon
  • the engineer and the artist

Tune in next time part 322      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As Isolde led me the length of the vessel to reach the chapel, I wondered what had become of my aunt Xylona. She must have evaded capture somehow, otherwise Fleur or one of her odious retainers would have gloated over it.

Naturally, Fleur’s aircraft carrier had a wedding chapel, standard Contrarian naval specification. It was a cramped chamber above the engine room, adorned with bird skeletons (the traditional Contrarian symbol of marriage). It also had a turntable, which the chaplain switched on when we came in. It started playing the bouncy, atonal music dictated for proxy weddings at sea, which happened to be performed by the band that’s all I’ve ever known of Contrarian experimental jazz.

Isolde steered me to the lectern and told the chaplain, “Harry and I almost eloped last night after dinner, but now we can do things properly. The way we’ve been rehearsing them for the past nine months!”

Despite months of rehearsal, neither Isolde or the chaplain knew their parts. I stood quietly by, speaking only when they prompted me, and saying the lines they provided. After Isolde promised that Harry was “what I will store in my spice rack,” I, on Harry’s behalf, solemnly declared Isolde to be “where I will inflate my balloon.”

“In that case,” the chaplain said, smiling, “I now pronounce you the engineer and the artist. I’ll shut the door on my way out.”

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My Second Drugging In Less Than 12 Hours Brought Back Vivid Memories Of My Wedding

  • by jen“You don’t have to eat it.”
  • We’re going to make it look accidental.
  • the site of an extraordinary event
  • so soft and so elegant
  • stern, judgmental, and bossy

Tune in next time part 86                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My second drugging in less than 12 hours brought back vivid memories of my wedding to Fleur. Her family made liberal use of narcotics and paralytics in all of their ceremonies.

You might think that the days of marriages arranged to strengthen political ties were long gone, but you would be wrong. During my mother’s second term as president she desired an ally amongst the stern, judgmental, and bossy warlords of Contraria, and so Fleur and I were forced to marry. I was assured that she would be so soft and so elegant, so unlike her father. I was lied to. Fleur was indeed elegant, but she was not soft. And while she did not resemble her father much physically, she was his protege in matters both political and temperamental.

I tried to convince Mother that my twin Jason would make a more appropriate groom, but she insisted that he had to be available to rap throughout the fortnight-long reception. And so for two long weeks the White House lawn and rose garden were the site of an extraordinary event, a bombastic celebration that resembled Burning Man more than a state wedding reception. Fleur and I exchanged our vows wearing only the floral headdresses of her people. Upon consummation of the marriage, our first Contrarian tribal question and answer session was broadcast on C-SPAN. Through the haze of drugs I overheard my mother and Fleur’s father plotting the bombing of Contraria’s eternal rival. “Don’t worry,” Mother assured the warlord. “We’re going to make it look accidental.”

Everyone knows how that worked out, of course.

And now, even after that debacle, and the sex scandal that killed my father and removed my mother from office in disgrace, I was still wed to Fleur, still subject to the violent traditions of her clan, still expected to produce an heir.

As the blowgun poison wore off I became aware again of the stuffy tent and the scratchy doily adhered to my groin. Fleur stood before me with a giant cicada pinched between two chopsticks. My punishment for getting my first question wrong.

“You don’t have to eat it.” My father-in-law fixed me with a smirk. “But the alternative is even worse.”

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