It never ceases to amaze me how you can find people with radically different problems in life. And life, in its infinite wisdom, chooses to scatter its resources rather unjustly. Bloke A may be running through life looking for something; the same stuff that bloke B might be throwing away by the bucketloads. For example, I might be… err… a random chap might be obese to the point that commercial aircrafts draw straws to see which one gets to take him on board. Whereas Baroness Queenie Von Meanie might be diving head first into chocolate cheesecakes, trying to gain some weight on herself so that she doesn’t fly away when people sneeze.
Likewise, frequent readers of the blog would know that right now, I jump hedges, dig holes, jump in, and cover myself with dirt, simply avoiding the topic of marriage. Meanwhile, allegedly on the same planet, we have Queenie Von Teeny who makes it clear that if she doesn’t get married in the shortest possible time, she’ll hold her breath until she turns blue, or until she feels the need to breathe, whichever comes first. But at least she didn’t PLAN to be this way. She was pretty sane and normal to an extent, until she met her guy, after which something snapped inside of her.
But on the very same overburdened bewildered planet, we see another breed of ‘bride-to-be’s. She’s in a cushy, comfortable relationship where neither party is in any hurry to race to the altar and seal the deal in ink. And it’s not just because they’re lazy to the core. ‘Things are going good, so why change stuff?’ - is the philosophy. When the time is right, they’ll cement the deal.
But what if he’s not ready at that time? Don’t you worry about that.
She has a plan. Hell, she has a 20 page script.
She rushes in ahead of him, makes sure things are in order. Makes sure the hidden stay hidden…. makes sure the props are in place… and then he walks in. She gets him seated in place, starts mild chit-chat. Nothing too serious… You know - the regular blah blah yada yada stuff…
Meanwhile, from behind the curtains, the priest starts the sermon, but in low murmur, so that the groom isn’t prematurely made aware that he is in fact, a groom.
Some giggles will invariably come from under the sofa, where the bridesmaids will be hiding, of course. Can’t help that. Those pesky chatterboxes. She will have to pretend it’s coming from the TV or something… But wait… the TV is off, and the groom’s not stupid. D’oh!
No worries. No worries. She can pretend it’s her new ringtone! Muffled giggles as ringtones… that could work!
She gives him some bills that he has to sign on. Camera zooms in to reveal that she has cleverly taped the marriage license underneath, with a piece of carbon paper to get the signature through. (Incidentally, this marriage license would have special clauses about policies relating to who has power over the remote control, joint accounts, and a teeny clause about getting the toilet seat bolted in a particular position)
And then the priest reaches the cruicial part of the sermon. This is where it gets tricky. Timing has to be perfect.
Priest gives signal…
Her: Hey, honey…
Him: Yeah, babes..?
Priest(barely audible) : Do you…Her: Remember that dress I bought last week?
Him: Errr… which one?
(She makes carefully rehearsed face)
Him: No, wait. I got it, I got it… Yeah. I remember it. I mean… like, completely!
Priest: ...take ...lawfully wedded wife...Her: Well, do you like it?
Him: Yeah, yeah… It’s lovely… It’s that lovely pink… beig… I mean… It’s great. Beautiful. Suits you very well… I mean… Yes.
Priest: ...to have ...to hold ...sickness ...health...Her: Yes, what?
Priest: ...death do you part?Him: Yes, I do..
Priest (top of his lungs): I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU HUSBAND AND WIFE, SUCKER!!! HA HA HA!!
And suddenly, the maids of honor, the guests, and the priest come out, yelling “Surprise!!” Champagne bottles are uncorked, jokes are made, speeches are toasted, and paramedics rush to check the groom’s pulse and other vital signs.
She has everything planned. She just needs to get a priest who’s willing to say ’sucker’ in front of an audience. I predict it won’t really be a very pleasant ceremony.
Of course, personally, I plan to jump a hedge, dig a hole, jump in, and cover myself with dirt around that time.
