11 June 2007
186
R. Linda:
Okay, so there was a party Tonya was giving for a co-worker with a bunch of her lady friends. The co-worker, a young thing of 23, was having the misfortune of getting engaged to be married and the 'girls' (I use that term loosely because some of the 'girls' are over 50) decided it would be a fine bit of idea to have a shower for her. Back in Ireland, we call this a 'hen party.' Of course, Ton volunteered our garden since it be quite colourful this time of year.
In preparation for all this fanfare, yours truly was hooked into mowing lawn, clipping hedges and generally doing cleanup and grunt work while Ton did the hostess thing of going shopping. Yesterday, we had rain, and it was not compatible weather to be out doing yard work, though I was sent out to pull weeds from between the patio bricks because to use Round-Up in the rain would have been a waste of spray. Besides which, I was informed the weeds would be easier to pull when wet. While Ton was out, I was meself, breaking me back, breaking fingernails, getting hands scraped and dirty, meself soaking wet, but I got the weeding done even if I did suffer chills the rest of the night.
Today, I was awoken at the hour of 8 a.m. to get out there and get the hedges clipped, the lawn mowed etc., etc., etc., because it was a sunny day. This gave me no time to go pick up the 80 petit' fours that Tonya ordered from the local baker, specially made and all. What to do? At about 11:30, Mr. and Mrs. Weasil and their son (yes, the wife and kiddie have arrived) dropped by unexpectedly. Mrs. W was promptly pulled into decorating the tables outside (which yours truly lugged out of storage from the old back shed and was told to hose down -- surprised I wasn't told to paint them, too!) and placing the flowers and all that stuff ladies like to spruce up the outdoors with. This bothers me because there are a lot of flowers growing naturally in the garden, so why there is a need for more to decorate tables with vases of them, I can't guess.
The wife's fatal mistake was asking Mr. W to run over to pick up the petit' fours for her. Uh-huh. Should I go on? Yes, I should because, for a change, it wasn't me in trouble this time. But that said, Weasil's middle name is Trouble, and me wife should have known better. I took pause when she suggested he go pick up the pastries (I had a vague memory of sitting in a jail cell half awake in Scotland, watching him devour doughnuts). Still, I bit me tongue, thinking I'd only end up doing that too and being told about not helping enough, so I said nothing and crossed me fingers he'd be able to carry out so simple a request.
Of course, he didn't carry it out as asked, only halfway, but more on that later.
So the boxes of petit' fours sat on the table in the kitchen to be served after the finger sannies and salads and raspberry mint iced tea. The Weasil family was asked to stay since they helped, and so they did. Of course, they did, any excuse for food, drink and any kind of celebration, and they were right there in attendance.
Well, Mr. W and I stayed out of the ladies' way by watching the telly and drinking beer and eating crisps and, of course, munching on finger sannies, complaining how insubstantial they were and then raiding the fridge for sub fixings and back to our chairs in front of the telly. UNTIL . . . Tonya came whipping in, Mrs. Weasil on her heels, small kiddie in attendance.
"Horatio, there are only 70 pastries. I ordered 80 so we could have two for each girl. They are so rich. What happened?"
Sidenote here: Me Tonya calls Weasil Horatio. I don't know exactly when that started or why, and neither will tell me. But that isn't his first name.
At this question, the Weasil reddened around the ears, a sure sign he knew what happened to the ten missing petit' fours. He squirmed for an instant and then said, "I wanted ta makie sure dey tastied as goodly as dey lookied."
I covered me face in me hands at the embarrassment and mainly to cover me laughter, but me shaking shoulders gave me away.
"You think that is funny, Gabriel?"
Sidenote here: Tonya refers to me as Gabriel, me whole Christen name when she be angry at meself.
Uh oh, I snapped out of the instant merriment and looked as innocent as I could and blinked me eyes to make tears like I was crying, not laughing, and in a whinny voice, I answered that no, not at all was I finding it a bit funny, but a crying shame because a few of the 'girls' would go pastie, I mean pastry-less.
It seemed Mr. W got a wee bit peckish on his way home from the bakery. The pastries smelled delightfully sinful and looked so tasty; they seemed to call to him, and like Alice in Wonderland, he found that sampling one meant you couldn't just eat one; you needed to have another and another, and another after that, until by the time he reached his destination, he'd have had ten all total -- one entire box! Right down the Weasil hole, yes, indeed.
Such was Ton's party, ten pastries short, but lucky for Weasil, there were two leftovers because a few of the 'girls' were on diets. Talk about the luck of the Weasil. I wanna know why I never seem to have that kind of luck.
Gabe
Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Okay, so there was a party Tonya was giving for a co-worker with a bunch of her lady friends. The co-worker, a young thing of 23, was having the misfortune of getting engaged to be married and the 'girls' (I use that term loosely because some of the 'girls' are over 50) decided it would be a fine bit of idea to have a shower for her. Back in Ireland, we call this a 'hen party.' Of course, Ton volunteered our garden since it be quite colourful this time of year.
In preparation for all this fanfare, yours truly was hooked into mowing lawn, clipping hedges and generally doing cleanup and grunt work while Ton did the hostess thing of going shopping. Yesterday, we had rain, and it was not compatible weather to be out doing yard work, though I was sent out to pull weeds from between the patio bricks because to use Round-Up in the rain would have been a waste of spray. Besides which, I was informed the weeds would be easier to pull when wet. While Ton was out, I was meself, breaking me back, breaking fingernails, getting hands scraped and dirty, meself soaking wet, but I got the weeding done even if I did suffer chills the rest of the night.
Today, I was awoken at the hour of 8 a.m. to get out there and get the hedges clipped, the lawn mowed etc., etc., etc., because it was a sunny day. This gave me no time to go pick up the 80 petit' fours that Tonya ordered from the local baker, specially made and all. What to do? At about 11:30, Mr. and Mrs. Weasil and their son (yes, the wife and kiddie have arrived) dropped by unexpectedly. Mrs. W was promptly pulled into decorating the tables outside (which yours truly lugged out of storage from the old back shed and was told to hose down -- surprised I wasn't told to paint them, too!) and placing the flowers and all that stuff ladies like to spruce up the outdoors with. This bothers me because there are a lot of flowers growing naturally in the garden, so why there is a need for more to decorate tables with vases of them, I can't guess.
The wife's fatal mistake was asking Mr. W to run over to pick up the petit' fours for her. Uh-huh. Should I go on? Yes, I should because, for a change, it wasn't me in trouble this time. But that said, Weasil's middle name is Trouble, and me wife should have known better. I took pause when she suggested he go pick up the pastries (I had a vague memory of sitting in a jail cell half awake in Scotland, watching him devour doughnuts). Still, I bit me tongue, thinking I'd only end up doing that too and being told about not helping enough, so I said nothing and crossed me fingers he'd be able to carry out so simple a request.
Of course, he didn't carry it out as asked, only halfway, but more on that later.
So the boxes of petit' fours sat on the table in the kitchen to be served after the finger sannies and salads and raspberry mint iced tea. The Weasil family was asked to stay since they helped, and so they did. Of course, they did, any excuse for food, drink and any kind of celebration, and they were right there in attendance.
Well, Mr. W and I stayed out of the ladies' way by watching the telly and drinking beer and eating crisps and, of course, munching on finger sannies, complaining how insubstantial they were and then raiding the fridge for sub fixings and back to our chairs in front of the telly. UNTIL . . . Tonya came whipping in, Mrs. Weasil on her heels, small kiddie in attendance.
"Horatio, there are only 70 pastries. I ordered 80 so we could have two for each girl. They are so rich. What happened?"
Sidenote here: Me Tonya calls Weasil Horatio. I don't know exactly when that started or why, and neither will tell me. But that isn't his first name.
At this question, the Weasil reddened around the ears, a sure sign he knew what happened to the ten missing petit' fours. He squirmed for an instant and then said, "I wanted ta makie sure dey tastied as goodly as dey lookied."
I covered me face in me hands at the embarrassment and mainly to cover me laughter, but me shaking shoulders gave me away.
"You think that is funny, Gabriel?"
Sidenote here: Tonya refers to me as Gabriel, me whole Christen name when she be angry at meself.
Uh oh, I snapped out of the instant merriment and looked as innocent as I could and blinked me eyes to make tears like I was crying, not laughing, and in a whinny voice, I answered that no, not at all was I finding it a bit funny, but a crying shame because a few of the 'girls' would go pastie, I mean pastry-less.
It seemed Mr. W got a wee bit peckish on his way home from the bakery. The pastries smelled delightfully sinful and looked so tasty; they seemed to call to him, and like Alice in Wonderland, he found that sampling one meant you couldn't just eat one; you needed to have another and another, and another after that, until by the time he reached his destination, he'd have had ten all total -- one entire box! Right down the Weasil hole, yes, indeed.
Such was Ton's party, ten pastries short, but lucky for Weasil, there were two leftovers because a few of the 'girls' were on diets. Talk about the luck of the Weasil. I wanna know why I never seem to have that kind of luck.
Gabe
Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved
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