Story #212
R. Linda:
As you know, the Scottish party be on Friday. However, the haggis and a few other essentials are missing. I have emailed and rung THE Scotsman, who is supposed to supply us with the wee beastie, and left messages all over the place.
Before leaving for London, I wrote to him to inform him that the big shindig was coming soon. Could we count on the haggis arriving the week of the 7th December? I got an email with this size front saying: "I think so.
That gave me pause. That was like a squeak. No, I THINK SO, instead a wee: I think so.
I had a bad feeling I did. No word from the Scotsman, no haggis either by that Monday. So I rang him up, but there was no answer. I emailed, but there was still no response.
Then, today, the Scotsman rang. He said he was so very sorry about the deluxe haggis and that instead, he'd send me one sheep bladder gratis and directions to make me own haggis. I was gobsmacked. I said, "Thanks, but no thanks." I don't have time to make haggis. Besides, it would gross this Irishman out to make a Scottish delicacy, and then I would certainly remember everything that went into it and not be able to eat it.
So he said he'd send me 8 cans gratis to compensate for not having the fresh one. That grossed me out more than the sheep bladder deal. I said hold off on those, I don't want canned anything. I asked him to reimburse us for the haggis and send the other stuff (Weasil and I had ordered whiskey fudge and some other things we didn't have time to make).
Hold on, THAT stuff is out of supply too! I was like, WHAT? WHAT!!!
The shortbread we ordered he no longer had, but he would send up shortbread fingers and tails in a TIN. Fingers and tails? A very nice tin, and there's no extra charge to the lady of the house. Why would Tonya care, I asked meself. Well, ok, what else am I not getting? He said he didn't have the whiskey fudge, so he'd send Wallace fudge instead. What be Wallace fudge, I ask, goat milk fudge sans the whiskey. Reluctantly, I said okay. What else? Good news, he's got the oatcakes. He'll send those right away with the substitutes. All right, I say, what choice do I have?
It dawns on me that he knows I be speaking with an Irish accent to his Scottish one, so it must be the little woman being Scottish, thus referring to her. He should only know she is Lebanese and African American. But he wants me to know that he's taken the haggis supplier to task, and the man will have them ready by the end of the week. Would I consider putting me party off another week? No, I say, I've put it off since September and am not doing that. I ask him if the haggis guy is a Brit. He laughed and said, "You'd think so, wouldn't you?" To meself, I thought HE was the haggis guy; now there be another one? Oi!
Last year, we made the oatcakes, I made the shortbread, and someone else made the bloody fudge. This year, because it is so close to Christmas and Ton has cookies to make, she didn't want to spend the time with the Scottish foods. Best laid plans, huh? I have to tell the Weasil this. This is HIS haggis guy, not mine, but because I be hosting this thing, I got stuck doing all the food ordering to me house. You can see me brain is fried by the haggis conversation, and I be simply getting stupid over it. And it isn't even me party or idea. How I let him talk me into these things, I don't know. I wouldn't dare tell me relatives back on the Emerald Isle that I, a son of Ireland, was hosting a Scottish party. Do you know what they'd do to me? They'd disown me, call me horrible Gaelic names and bar me entrance to the old country FOREVER.
So, there is no sheep bladder, innards, or much else. Worse, no whiskey fudge (the only thing I was looking forward to) to drown me sorrows. I don't know what we are going to do. All the invitations were sent out, and all have responded that they'd be coming. Sigh. But why should I worry? This be Weasil's gig -- he can figure it out and bring the main dish, right? I wash me hands of it. I be done, done I say! Now I need a piece of fudge and a glass of whiskey to dip it in.
Gabe
Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
As you know, the Scottish party be on Friday. However, the haggis and a few other essentials are missing. I have emailed and rung THE Scotsman, who is supposed to supply us with the wee beastie, and left messages all over the place.
Before leaving for London, I wrote to him to inform him that the big shindig was coming soon. Could we count on the haggis arriving the week of the 7th December? I got an email with this size front saying: "I think so.
That gave me pause. That was like a squeak. No, I THINK SO, instead a wee: I think so.
I had a bad feeling I did. No word from the Scotsman, no haggis either by that Monday. So I rang him up, but there was no answer. I emailed, but there was still no response.
Then, today, the Scotsman rang. He said he was so very sorry about the deluxe haggis and that instead, he'd send me one sheep bladder gratis and directions to make me own haggis. I was gobsmacked. I said, "Thanks, but no thanks." I don't have time to make haggis. Besides, it would gross this Irishman out to make a Scottish delicacy, and then I would certainly remember everything that went into it and not be able to eat it.
So he said he'd send me 8 cans gratis to compensate for not having the fresh one. That grossed me out more than the sheep bladder deal. I said hold off on those, I don't want canned anything. I asked him to reimburse us for the haggis and send the other stuff (Weasil and I had ordered whiskey fudge and some other things we didn't have time to make).
Hold on, THAT stuff is out of supply too! I was like, WHAT? WHAT!!!
The shortbread we ordered he no longer had, but he would send up shortbread fingers and tails in a TIN. Fingers and tails? A very nice tin, and there's no extra charge to the lady of the house. Why would Tonya care, I asked meself. Well, ok, what else am I not getting? He said he didn't have the whiskey fudge, so he'd send Wallace fudge instead. What be Wallace fudge, I ask, goat milk fudge sans the whiskey. Reluctantly, I said okay. What else? Good news, he's got the oatcakes. He'll send those right away with the substitutes. All right, I say, what choice do I have?
It dawns on me that he knows I be speaking with an Irish accent to his Scottish one, so it must be the little woman being Scottish, thus referring to her. He should only know she is Lebanese and African American. But he wants me to know that he's taken the haggis supplier to task, and the man will have them ready by the end of the week. Would I consider putting me party off another week? No, I say, I've put it off since September and am not doing that. I ask him if the haggis guy is a Brit. He laughed and said, "You'd think so, wouldn't you?" To meself, I thought HE was the haggis guy; now there be another one? Oi!
Last year, we made the oatcakes, I made the shortbread, and someone else made the bloody fudge. This year, because it is so close to Christmas and Ton has cookies to make, she didn't want to spend the time with the Scottish foods. Best laid plans, huh? I have to tell the Weasil this. This is HIS haggis guy, not mine, but because I be hosting this thing, I got stuck doing all the food ordering to me house. You can see me brain is fried by the haggis conversation, and I be simply getting stupid over it. And it isn't even me party or idea. How I let him talk me into these things, I don't know. I wouldn't dare tell me relatives back on the Emerald Isle that I, a son of Ireland, was hosting a Scottish party. Do you know what they'd do to me? They'd disown me, call me horrible Gaelic names and bar me entrance to the old country FOREVER.
So, there is no sheep bladder, innards, or much else. Worse, no whiskey fudge (the only thing I was looking forward to) to drown me sorrows. I don't know what we are going to do. All the invitations were sent out, and all have responded that they'd be coming. Sigh. But why should I worry? This be Weasil's gig -- he can figure it out and bring the main dish, right? I wash me hands of it. I be done, done I say! Now I need a piece of fudge and a glass of whiskey to dip it in.
Gabe
Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved
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