A Toast
Yesterday was a first for me.
I was the legal witness and signatory to a most unexpected document: the marriage license of two old friends. And, by “old,” I mean “old;” between them, they’re accumulated a century-and-a-half of life experience. Both had successfully avoided matrimony during all that time. You would think that, after all those years, they’d be leery of such risky behavior.
But nothing could stop them.
There was more: I was one of the people who were asked to say a few words at the wedding. People who know me better would never be so fool-hardy. Most of the folks who spoke before me rambled on at length (after all, they had plenty of material with which to work). Through years of pain, I’ve learned that—when an audience has been exposed to a series of long speeches—they appreciate nothing more than a short one.
I kept my comments brief.
However, since I spend most of my time writing (and re-writing; and re-writing; and re-writing), I can never leave well enough alone. Today I woke with an irrepressible morning-after urge to edit (and expand upon) yesterday’s extempore remarks.
Here goes:
“I have known Markus for almost sixty years. I could tell you many things but for that pesky statute-of-limitations business. Also, many of our stories are not suitable for mixed company—and what we have here, today, is some seriously mixed company.
What I can say is that, of all the things I remember, this is the weirdest!
Betsy, I don’t know if you are planning to take this crazy son-of-a-bitch’s name, but for now, let me raise a toast to the brand new Mister and Missus Reckless Abandon.”
Betsy and Markus on one of our many book-hunting expeditions together.
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