This is not the Blood Wedding by Garcia Lorca. And this is Auntie Carol. Lady Lynda and Seymour Toze also chose to “take the plunge” so to speak with me and my man, Herman Sherman. A duel wedding, what could have been more festive on the day of St. Stephen’s Feast, the 26th of December? Oh, so jolly, mistletoe and holly. We had our priest dress up as Santa to promote a Christmas Theme. Lady Lynda and Seymour Toze were somewhat miffed at the Christmas theme both being Jewish. But in the end they relented when I told them we would, at a later date, participate in a Jewish wedding with them (Mazeltov).
I had mixed feelings about my wedding to my marvelous, Herman Sherman. Could I truly give myself up to passion like the heroines in my Barbara Cartland novels? And could on trust the veracity of someone who lived in a pink house and drove a pink car. But on the other hand, I still got that tingly feeling in the nether regions when Seymour pressed up against me with, I deign to say it, his hardness. I even think I had an idea of what he looked like down there as I once took the tiniest peak at a PlayGirl spread, but not enough to memorize all the details, silly. Lady Lynda says they look like Kielbasa sausage and in regretable instances, vienna sausages. I can just imagine how she knows but not “by going all the way.” But sitll it is hanky panky and I disapprove. No good Christian woman has this knowlege! Well, she is Jewish, after all, and still a virgin, as am I.
We, of course, had civil ceremonies at city hall, and I remember whispering in Lady Lynda’s ear, “My word, how will these people ever reproduce!” It was uncharitable and not worhty of me. Though I did say it. They resembled extras out of a Bela Lagosi film. Crossed eyes, low brows, sunken chins and five-hundred pound fat ladies in spandex. It remained to be seen how any man could ever even reach their “woman’s flower”. But, I must say it takes all kinds to make a world. Yet, Sacre Bleu, how will her husband ever reach her!! How?
Our wedding was SPLENDID, in a word. We were married in a grape vineyard at Lady Lynda’s estate in Bryn Athyn. Concord grapes formed an arch above us and with pieces of bright tuquoise sky shining through. And we said the traditional vows of love, honor, and obey as a wife’s duty is first to her blessed husband. It was truly God’s bounty and of course, it goes without saying, our dresses were lace from Vera, our favorite designer, and our jewels, emeralds and diamonds were dripping from our ears and necks like rain from a thunder storm. We were a trifle naughty with our low cut bodices and of course, our dresses were similiar as we consider ourselves, “Sisters”. The men wore Armani tuxes with gold cumberbuns and neck ties. Of course my Herman, with his high fashion face outshone Seymour. That is not to say Seymour is not a fine specimen. Everywhere were the colors of red and green, gold and silver. And the priest, God bless him, had an actual long, white beard.
Let me get to the moment of truth. When we got to the part where I gave my assent, my knees buckled and Herman had to support me with both arms while Lynda remained steadfast. Strong emotions,and obsenities always me feel faint.Then I had a horrid thought what if I felt faint during “the act”. Would that be necrophilia if he kept on and did his “business?” Sacre Bleu, and heavens,no. I had all these thoughts whizzing through my mind at the speed of light. I could tell Lady Lynda was holding her own and it was Seynour who was flushed a bright magenta pink, and he put his hand on her derriere when the priest enjoined us to kiss each other. That Seymour Toze is a real sex fiend and will probably want poor Lynda to satisfy his animal urges several times a day. Poor Girl! I planned to do “the act” every other day kind of like those blinking Christmas tree lights. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and besides, frequent sex is known to cause schizophrenia in women. Never eat a whole box of chocolates at once, my darlings.
Also, my Herman requires more than most men and he says he will teach me how to satisfy his female
persona, Emma Enigma. I can’t say I relish it but a woman is a man’s helpmate first, and her own woman, second. But never be too eager or your man will think you’re a tramp. Play pillow games with him to arouse his interest for a man is a hunter, after all. Though this is naughty, I quote the great Mae West,
“A good man is hard to find and a hard man is good to find.”
Then we had the reception on the spacious lawn with Japanese lanturns strung about and gold fish swimming in the opulant pond in back of the house. A giant 30 foot Christmas tree with bubble ornaments and Italian lights glimmered in the night air and a fifties band serenaded the guests with songs such as “The One-Eyed, One Armed, Flying Purple People Eater” and “Who Put the Bop in the Bop Shoe Bop”, etc. Our song, “Earth Angel” came on as did Lynda’s, “Blue Velvet” by Bobby Darren. I noticed a giant topiary of two jack rabbits, deign I say it, fornicating on the side of the dance floor. Seymour’s idea, no doubt. It greatly offended me but I said nothing for we had stars in our eyes and rice in our hair and all seemed to be God’s plan.
The gift table strained with opulant abundance and many, many sealed envelopes. Probably enough to feed Africa for years. Dame Largesse definitely attended our party. I shan’t tell you what we did in bed for I would need a passle of medical charts and an encyclopedia to describe what we did, Herman and I. And as Lady Lynda is wont to say, “A Lady Never Tells.”
CAROL ANN writer of Poems of Thunder (Noire & Whimsy) @ Amazon, &Barnes &Noble.com