10:25 am
Megan Bayliss
It all started with a kiss.
Madison, the forced upon us matron of honour, came screaming into the reception, hair all a fly, sobbing and bleating about there being no cake left. Being a porky little beast and prone to a good dose of histrionics, I paid little attention to her.
Until I kissed her and quietly suggested into her right ear that she harden the fuck up.
Through her constant babbling at me I deciphered words that made me want to kill the best man, Madison’s own darling husband.
He had cut the carriage cake in two, right through the picture of my daughter and her delightful new husband. He was in love, Madison bawled, with the pastry chef groom…my new son in law. It seemed that Madison's dumb-arsed, burnt-orange-convertible-driving husband had apparently had enough of her histrionics, and now wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He wanted my princess, and Madison, out of his life and instead wanted my princesses new husband in it. Oh my God!
My princess, not one to suffer fools or circumstances that took the attention away from herself, was surprisingly calm. As I shot the daggers of death to all of the orange convertible family members and friends, I noticed my princess on her mobile. In her advanced CEO manner, I could tell she was delegating specific tasks with a time lined ultimatum.
Princess delicately lifted her dress, just a tad so as to make walking easy, and headed toward her husband. She was so beautiful. Her perfectly straight white teeth (they cost me a small fortune, I can tell you), her flawless skin and her eyes all a sparkle, she was truly elegant and gorgeous. With her persuasive beauty and envious cleavage she coaxed her beloved away from the madness and indicated for the band to start playing the bridal waltz. Her pointed finger to band leader so expertly spoke volumes of control and immediacy that I mentally noted that I should take lessons from her.
As they waltzed around the room, all eyes turned to them. Cheers and clapping from the one hundred guests covered the noise of Princesses’ ninja background retribution.
My angel and her handsome husband magically slid around the room, skilfully greeting and acknowledging their guests, while the horse and carriage driver carried out her angelic instructions.
As the band ceased its play and guests unembraced their dance partner, a different genre of music wafted into the room. The mechanical clanging of a tip truck tipping was off set to a waft of manure. Guests fell quiet and all eyes turned to the unknown music of my utmost delight.
We looked on, helpless and unable to do anything. A load of horse manure was unloaded into a little burnt orange convertible, open roofed for such a delightful summer evening. The orange convertible was not seen by the truck driver who had turned off his headlights so as not to disturb wedding guests as he backed in to unload into his usual spot. The reception was held at a very swish landscapers show ground and how were we to know that the landscaper used fresh horse manure as fertiliser for his magnificent gardens. How were we to know that a delivery had been arranged for the night of the wedding?
Damn that girl did good. If only she’d arranged for a cement truck though!
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5 Response to "My Princess Bride"
Wonderful piece, Megan.
I have noticed something that was bugging me. About showing the reader and not telling. I like to tell. But I see now what you mean by showing. It is very intrique.
I can hear the characters voices and tones. You have done a fantasic job capturing that.
http://thelittledunpony.blogspot.com/2010/06/carriage-came-home.html
Thanks Julie.
On my reread, I have noticed that I started four paragraphs in a row with "As...". That's no good and if this was a piece to be sent away I would naturally change that and be much more descriptive.
I actually struggled with this one because I had no idea what to write about. I started with an idea of a wedding scene (yes, a literal interpretation of the pic) and just went from there. As I typed my fingers decided the story....does that mean I've lost the plot?????
Just take a those 'As' out, still reads great.
Now if that means you have lost the plot, then we are both up shit creek with no paddle.
I do the same thing, quite often I have no idea and then I might write one sentence and the story evolves from there. Other days I just let my fingers do the walking.
I'd say its more creative that way and that's why editing was invented.
This is a fantastic little anecdotal short story, and I love it - just the right tone of voice for the narrator! The only sentence that I found a little awkward was a description of the matron-of-honor's son: Dumb arse burnt orange convertible driving husband of the histrionic. It's a little long, and took me a few passes over to completely decipher - the biggest stumbling block was that "histrionic" was by itself, and stood for Madison. Also, some punctuation would pull it together a bit better: It seemed that her dumb-arsed, burnt-orange-convertible-driving husband had apparently had enough of her histrionics, and now wanted to have his cake and eat it too.
Just a thought ... but I love your style and your tone!
Ang, thanks so much for your comments. I greatly appreciate you taking the time to comment. Acting as a critical friend so take so much time so I really am grateful.
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