How does one write about the wedding of Mr. Weasil? I suppose it is best to start at the beginning with the beginning.
Once upon a time (now don't get crazy on me, this is a real life faery-tale and we should start in just this manner), there was a handsome Scottish prince (well, he thought so and to be honest the lad was a looker for sure), who came upon an American princess who was of Scottish heritage and a looker herself.
When once spied by the handsome prince, the American princess didn't stand a chance. No glass slipper necessary, the prince had her in his sights and that was it. It was on a fine day at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, Massachusetts, upon minding her own business she was accosted by this court jester (yes, yes, yes, the handsome prince in disguise). Little did she know she was about to be smitten by the prince dressed as a frog. Yes, ladies and laddies, and R. Linda too, the poor girl had not a clue what she was getting herself into. I mean how would you feel if some dolt with blonde hair and a sliver of a goatee came up to you and said, "Watchadoin?" all in one word. Well, if you were yourself you'd hit him on the head with the fattest history book you happened to have in your rucksack and walk away, or, if you happened to be wearing a pair of stilettos you might take one off and stab him in the eye, or, if you were weighing in at 250 lbs you could just push him out of the way and walk over him.
That would eliminate the snappy pest, but no, that is not what happened. No indeedie me, as Mr. W would say. The poor girl was instead, smitten. I mean right between the eyes. There she was, the word, watchadoin bouncing off the walls of her empty skull, but even better the sight of the Weasil up close and almost personal was a wonder for her addled brain to register, let alone behold and send the image from brain to eyeball and back again with a resounding, "Grab em' before he gets away," signal zapping her all at one time. You see she knew from around the campus this was no ordinary toad. THIS was the rich Mr. W. So what if had an accent that made it even harder to understand his abuse of the English language and the French one too, the Weasil could spout off probably ten other languages just as badly as the English one, but who cares, he be RICH ladies and laddies and that, yes THAT R. Linda, was what counted. AND his daddy was a Lord over there in jolly old England or Scotland or somewhere across the pond.
Now I don't want to say the American princess saw only cash signs when she looked at the Weasil, but you've got to know it had to be at the back of her mind that he was a catch, a green one and I be not talking frog prince or toad here.
It came to pass that the two became a pair, that became a mutual admiration society, that became a couple, that became engaged. Oh my word yes, they decided to do the hitching thing, the linking of families, the combining of wealth, the kissing and the hugging and the "I dos" and more kissing and hugging, and squeezing and all that stuff that young Weasils do with pretty winsome young things. I get tired just thinking about it.
So it happened that the Weasil woke up one fine sunny morning to discover he had engaged himself to be married. OH MY GOD. Yes, that's what he said or it sort of sounded more like "Oopsie me dio," and of course Mr. W was bashing some Spanish in there as well as abusing the English language, yes all in one fell swoop. How to get out of this messy situation you might ask, but no, no, that wasn't exactly how the Weas saw the problem. Instead, it was how to put the winsome miss off for a longgg engagement. Yes, you know the kind, where you get the milk AND the cow for free and you stay that way for years if you can do it without actually buying the milk and the cow.
The term pussyfooting around means to move stealthily and that is exactly what Weasil did. Every time the subject of wedding date came up he'd pussyfoot around by stealthily twisting words into a great personal drama of stupendous tragedy, making everyone present forget the question at hand and instead, put their hands to their mouths and ooh and ahh gee whiz it, over Mr. W. Yes, he was able to do this for a whole 6 months. Imagine it, 6 months of pussyfooting. Oh be still me heart, but I be impressed with 6 months. You know if it were meself, I'd get a whole hour of pussyfooting if I was lucky, but I'd like to try pussyfooting only I don't think considering who I be married to I'd get much pussyfooting passed her. But that's another story and well, this is about Weasil and the American princess of Scottish heritage and not the art of pussyfooting. So ever onward.
It was a friend of Mr. W's who ended the pussyfooting episodes by joining the engaged couple at a booth in a bar by the name of Patty O'Flynn's Irish Pub. A side note here: Who in their right mind wouldn't know that Patty O'Flynn's pub would be an Irish one? With a name like Patty O'Flynn, do you think there is a hint of Irish in the name? So why add the 'Irish' word? Anyway, the friend who I won't mention his name (but starts with a G), just happened to engage the Weasil in a drinking contest. Now this friend be from Ireland and is like most Irishmen, the owner of a hollow leg. Therefore, when this person drinks beer he can drink anyone who is not from Ireland under the table. Except maybe an Englishman because everyone knows the English drink all day long and have built up a tolerance to alcohol. They can outlast an embalmer let me tell you. However, I be getting off the subject so let's climb back up on the horse and continue.
In so getting the Weasil in an inebriated state (which is alarming to witness, his face goes all red and his tongue hangs out as far as his shirt tails, his hair gets as disheveled as his cargo pants, and his language is as loose as his shoe laces. Terrible I tell you), anyway, this G person from Ireland, said out loud (of all the gall), "When you two getting married? What's the date?" This was answered by a sober American princess who piped up before the question even registered in Mr. W's mind, "Why October 8." To which this G person asked, "Of what year there lass?" To which she replied just as the first question hit the pickled brain of Mr. W, "This one."
And so it came to pass this October 8, 2005 was the wedding date of Mr. W and his soon-to-be-bride.
To be continued . . .