Let them wear cake

I was just waking from my afternoon siesta (hey, when in Spain) and was thinking of some of the people who follow my blog and my youngest sibling came to mind.

She, being of the female persuasion, is 10 years my junior. I at an exaggerated 5’6″ (165cm) am the Eiffel tower of the family size-wise and using that comparison she would be the Golden Mosque of the family.

Generally she had led a lonely life. Sure, she had girl friends from her grade school and university studies and the many sports teams she enhanced, but she was missing that soul mate, that desire, that God has built into our being.

Late in life, maybe when she was 31, she found her soon-to-be life partner, Art (I have changed his identity to protect him in case he moves on from her and his next wife Googles his past).

Don, I mean Art, was getting long in the tooth himself but was enjoying life as a single guy. He had done well in academia and was teaching and probably had dreams of a professorship at an elite school like Brandon Community College.

He being of the unassuming, quiet type, much like Ted Bundy was at that age was on his way to a John Denver concert (it was during that 4 month period when John Denver was considered palatable).

On his way he looked out of the side window of his Jaguar while stopped at a traffic light and saw the hapless Iris (again a protective identity) flailing on the sidewalk looking like she was making snow angels, despite it being July, but was actually trying to find her glasses.

Even as a youngster Iris was of the clumsy variety and we were forever fishing fauna and flora out of her hair and the back of her shirt. So this was not a unique situation that she had performed a chin glide in public. But it was fortuitous in that it had caught the attention of middle-aged Art.

He being brought up in the Sir Galahad tradition of child rearing wheeled his car to the curb and leapt out to address his Gwendolyn who was on her knees by now.

‘Excuse me youngish maiden but art thee in distress’ he proffered. ‘Naw, I found ’em. Move along there’s nothing to see here’, before adjusting her bent glasses. ‘Hey, is that your car’?

Iris had always had a soft spot for English automotive metalwork and agreed to enter his chariot. It was barely 2 years hence after much wooing and cooing that they were tying the knot. Not the strangulation-type knot that many men face on their wedding day when their future dreams are kicked to the curb in the guise of mutual conformity but of true love and mutual respect.

Along the way she managed to spit out a couple of the most fabulous children, Drew and Mitsy (again not their real names) who have both gone on to meaningful lives under the tutelage of their loving parents.

I was going to post up a picture of her but the only one that I have has a large chunk of dessert dangling from her right eyebrow. This not from her wedding night when the North American tradition of mashing a piece of wedding cake into each other’s faces, clogging up their nostrils has become common, but from stumbling back to the tv set after ravishing the refrigerator with the last piece of tiramisu before her children came back from school.

So, I’m shaking the cobwebs from my mind as I officially wake up and this turns out to have been a dream. Because of the multitude of brain cells that have been purged from my brain in my formative years I really can’t remember how my sister and her husband met. It probably was on Tinder.

Later folks.