Ann Jackson on organ, ladies and gentlemen. Nice job, Ann.

(Ready, Babs? I'm about to begin!)

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join" me and this woman Babs here (aka Babette Wilson) "in holy matrimony," on account of we don't half love each other, isn't that right, Babs? Wee dogies! Ahem. But where was I?

Oh, yes: "which is an honorable estate" (marriage, I mean) "and is not to be taken lightly" (oh, dear, no) "or wantonly" (I should think not) "or indeed to satisfy men's carnal lusts" and such like -- who me? Fancy ME, taking marriage lightly, much less satisfying men's carnal lust thereby: it's not gonna happen, Babs, not during MY watch: scout's honor --

But to continue:

..."but reverently, advisedly, and" (as the grammatically challenged Pastor Hugh says in the "Merry Wives of Windsor") "with as much discreetly as we can."

Please, hold your laughter until we're both fully wed, gang -- if we happen to look silly to you before that, it's a safe bet that it's only because of some accident that we couldn't prevent -- like a slip showing or something -- which, yours isn't, Babette, don't worry? (Babette's like: Slip showing? WHOSE slip? What slip? Where slip?)

By the way, I'm personally calling the play by play today because our own Pastor, Pastor Thomson, is out with the flu. Fortunately, he was well enough to give me my religious "orders" last night and so I am now an honorary friar of the relevant denomination and am thus eligible to marry myself with anyone that I choose -- till death do either one of us part, the chooser or the choosee.

Right. We now return to our regularly scheduled marriage, already in progress.

If you're following along at home, I'm reading from the Common Book of Prayer.

"First, it was ordained" (marriage, I mean) "for the pro" -- What? for the pro? Oh, dear, somebody must have torn the end of this sentence out of my Common Book of Prayer! Oh, well: I guess we'll have to figure the sentence out as best we can. It's puzzling, though: the author seems to be saying that marriage was only established for the pros! Hmm. Of all the -- Well, that rules me out! What do I know about marriage? Why, I was a positive wolf child from age 5 until my dramatic rescue three years ago from the Pine Barrens of New Jersey -- perhaps you saw it on Nightline? "The Pine Barrens Baby"? Only the love of a good woman (that's you, Babette) encouraged me to break with the past and to begin talking in connected sentences again. I haven't so much as gnawed on a single pine cone since I met you. And if I need pancake syrup these days, I get it from the store like everybody else. (It was never easy getting syrup from a pine tree anyway!)

It wasn't your fault, ma: you thought that Aunt Julie was watching me in the K-Mart, and Aunt Julie thought that you were watching me... These things happen. Mother Winnifred, ladies and gentlemen, in the second row of the balcony. Take a bow, mom.

Wait a minute: the second row of the balcony? What boneheaded usher put my mother in the second row of the balcony? Oh, sorry, Dad, it was you that took her up there because she preferred the view from up there? Surprisingly enough, Dad, that was the one right answer to that question that I just posed: very good, sir. Smart father. Intelligent dad. Kudos to a Brainstuffed Padre, that's what I say.

Say, wasn't that the name of a pavanne by Ravel? "Kudos to a Brainstuffed Padre"? Maybe I'm thinking of a Brainstuffed Princess. Or maybe it's "Pavanne to a Brainstuffed Padre"? Or maybe -- and this is no doubt much more likely given my admittedly spotty track record when it comes to precisely these sorts of parenthetical speculations -- maybe I have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about at the moment: none whatsoever, world without end, amen. Oh, dearie dearie me!

Now, as I was saying, marriage, according to the author here, is apparently only for the pros.

But then this is an old book, and that sounds like the sort of elitist claptrap that the later editions of the work must have surely expunged, or at least modified in favor of the amateur. How else could my almost improbably unworldly cousin have gotten married just last week? (Sorry, Robert, but you were the first naive loser that came to mind when it comes to newlyweds, and I had to offer SOMEBODY as an example! I was in a bind!)

Okay, look, we'll agree to disagree: The author says marriage was ordained for pros -- we, by contrast, believe that one can learn as they go. Positions noted.

And on we go -- hoping fervently that the rest of the book is intact!

"Secondly, it was ordained" (marriage, I mean) "for a remedy against sin and to avoid for-- for-- for--"

The words aren't missing this time gang, it's just that I'm a trifle "taken aback," as it were, at the, shall we say, raw language with which the ceremony's author felt compelled to make his point here: Forni-- Oh, my. Forni--

Basically, the idea is that Babette and I (are you listening, sweetums? good girl) The point is that you and I will apparently be less inclined to, so to speak, "sin big-time" after we're hitched and all. I think that's a fair summary of the sentiment under consideration.

Well, honestly, now, folks, you can't expect me to say that multi-syllabic "F" word here in a church of all places, what with all those innocent seraphim gazing down at me from the rococo arches. (How's that? They're baroque arches, Sammy? Sammy Taylor, we all know that you're a summa cum laude art major at the local college: there's no need to rub it in at my expense! Rococo, baroco -- the point is that the seraphim would hear me say a "worty dird" if I read the book verbatim, so I can't do it!

What's that now, Sammy? They're actually cherubim, not Seraphim?

See me after class, young man! Or rather after wedding. I'm going to give you a big long sarcastic note to take home to your mother -- Oops. Um, I see that -- ahem -- your dear mother is right there, right beside you even. How nice.

Howdy, Mrs. Taylor. It must be nice having such a great sport as your son for a... for a son. -- And a big smart art major into the bargain! My! Nice going... so to speak... giving birth to him and all... originally, I mean... back in 1987 or whatever.)

Now, where was I before my knowledge of the history of art was so rudely challenged?

Ah, yes, "Thirdly, it was ordained" (marriage, I mean) "for the mutual society, help and comfort that the one ought to have for the other." Hmm. The one WHAT? The other WHAT?

How's that, Babs, they're talking about us? Oh, I see, so then I am the "one" and you are the "other." (Well, why didn't they say so?!)

Anyway, I get it: We're expected to be helpful and comfort each other, etc. (Well, I imagine I can do that... How about you, Babs? That's not a deal breaker on YOUR end is it? I shouldn't think so.)

Right, then -- "into which holy estate these two persons" (Babs and I, they mean) "come to be joined"... yadda yadda yadda.

Oh, here's the classic line whereby we give you guys a chance to make a fool of yourself and to ruin our "special day" into the bargain. Ahem, and I quote:

"If any man can shew" (honestly, the spellings in this book!) -- "If any man can 'shew' just cause why they" (i.e. why we) "may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace."

That's odd: I thought it was "hold his piece," with an "i," as in hold one's piece in a play as opposed to reciting one's lines. You don't suppose that's a typo, do you?

Oh, well. Whatever, as they say.

In any case, we can now continue on to the juicy part of the wedding -- seeing as I know for a fact that no one in this church would be rude enough to mar this solemn occasion by demurring, the more so given the fact that less than 5% of you guys probably even know what that word means: "demurring," that is.

No one's going to demur, then, right? Good choice. You won't regret this.

Now, then, Babs --


I demur!


What? Who? Where?

I knew it! Oh, Sammy: You know perfectly well that you're only demurring because you want to indirectly point out to the rest of us simpletons that you, at least, know what the word "demurring" actually means.


No, I really DO demur!


He "really do" demur.

Fine. Although anyone with half a notion of linguistic propriety would merely "object" in this context -- if even that! Besides, I don't think the Best Man CAN demur: surely that's a conflict of interest. (Does anybody in the congregation happen to have a Hoyles Rule Book with them this morning?)

Yes? No?

Well, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I wasn't a trifle disappointed in you, Sam -- though really I'm more stunned than disappointed right now. (The magnitude of the no-doubt considerable "disappointment to come" will probably take a lifetime of embittered reflection on my part to fully "sink in," for make no mistake, Sam: this is -- or surely will become -- one of those "life events" that people talk about in hushed breaths, in private bouts of hypocritical condolence on the telephone, as who should say: "Did you hear about Brian! His marriage was derailed by his own Best Man! Ha ha ha!" I'd be a laughingstock, Sam -- yet you'd have to live with that for the rest of your no-doubt foreshortened life, wouldn't you? -- not that I personally would seek vengeance, of course -- I'd be a broken man in this hypothesis -- but one has friends with long memories and short fuses. I mean -- well, you know what I mean, Sam. Stop laughing and address my underlying point! Oh, you make me so mad sometimes! NOW what are you laughing at?)


I know: You're trying to get into the Guinness Book as the Worst Best Man ever.

In short: why do you demur, Sam? Pray, tell us all. One waits with the usual bated breath. (This ought to be good, folks: Keep an ear out for the 50-cent words, now.)


I demur because -- because -- Well, doggone it, I just DO, that's all!


See? I knew he was just showing off his high-and-mighty college vocabulary. Humph! Sammy Taylor, do you want me to read my letter to your mother out loud to her right now, even before I've written it?!


I was merely venturing a pleasantry at your expense, my dear sir. I withdraw the contested demurral.


Ah, so you were merely venturing a pleasantry at my expense, were you? And you now withdraw the contested demurral, do you? Oh, you! I am getting so close to reading that yet-unwritten letter out loud, Sammy!

That's a great son of yours, by the way, Mother Taylor: He can take a little ribbing from me and he doesn't... well, he doesn't ENTIRELY blow his top, does he? He's perhaps fuming slightly and even turning a little purple, I believe, but to give him credit, he's not actually saying anything -- or at least he's not saying anything that we can hear up here by the altar, thank goodness, is he, Babs, my love? (Down boy, down! That's a bad Sammy! That's a bad Taylor! Down! And no, you do not have mine or anybody else's permission to completely blow that top of yours! Do it on your own time, buster, or never: the choice is yours.)

Now then, Sam I am, if you're quite through venturing your various pleasantries at my expense, I move that Babs and I cut to the romantic chase here and, as it were, put this baby to bed when it comes to all things matrimonial. (Whoo-hoo, mama!)

Drum roll, please, Ann -- or rather organ roll, please, Ann. Ann Jackson, ladies and gentlemen, our organist on the day. What's that, Ann? You say there's no such thing as an "organ roll"? Oh, right. Well, I'm sure you'll think of some equivalent flourish. I know: Alternately depress two different bass pedals with rapidity using your left and right feet respectively: that should give us the desired tremolo effect.

And go!



And... cut! (Well done, Ann.)

Ahem. Babette, will you take me to be thy headed wus--

Oh, dear: I almost asked her if she took me to be her "headed wuss." Can I start this over, gang? Marriage ceremony, Act V, take two:

Babette, will you take my head -- Oh, rats, there I go again!

Cut! Everyone stop laughing or we'll never get out of here in time for the reception.

Right, take THREE!

Babette, darling, "do you take me to be your wedded husband, to live together according to the relevant spiritual laws" --

Babette: I do.

Shush, Babette, I haven't finished the question yet: it's a two-parter! That's okay, darling, we'll edit out your premature response in the cutting room.

And, Babette, AND... wilt thou obey me, serve me, and love the living daylights out of me --

Babette: I do.

Not yet, darling, Please! I'm almost done, though, so hold on, my sweet!

Let's see: "will you obey... serve... love..." Oh, yes, and will you, like, forsake all others and zero in on me only as Mr. Right, caressing me as appropriate, sometimes sheepishly tussling my hair as I only make believe that I'm trying to sleep, or gently palming the small of my back by way of a surprise morning massage followed by, perhaps, breakfast in bed with a newspaper that we never quite get around to reading somehow ... um, for example?

Babette: I do.

Is it warm in here, folks? Ushers, how about cracking a window or two for us? (Only don't take that suggestion literally, guys: that's Tiffany glass and Pastor Thomson would kill me big-time if we broke them, notwithstanding the oft-ballyhooed passivity of his profession.)

Now where were we? What did you just say, Babette?

Babette: I do.

Um, okay... I suppose that counts. Technically (and grammatically) the correct response is probably "I will," but we get the general idea.

Right. Now who's giving this woman to me?

Psst! Pops, that's your cue! That's it, step up here, old boy, into the narthex or whatever.


That's an apse!


Right, just keep it up, Sammy Taylor. The letter I'm going to write to your mom just keeps getting longer and longer!

Right, now, pops, from the top, please:

Who gives this woman to this man (i.e., to me)?

(Psst: say "I do," dad)


I am.


(No, I do!)


What?


(Say I do!)


Uh, I do.


Good enough. Now if you'll wander back down to your seat... that's it... scoot. And on the way, hand the ceremonial baton over to the best man --

Oh, great, I just remembered who the best man is: what were we thinking? Babs, this was your idea, wasn't it?

Sammy, come on up here, but not a word, yes?

That's it, up to this "apse," as you call it. (Apse, schmapse. It still looks like a nave to me... mumble mumble mumble)

Well, come on, make with the ring: this ceremony is already running late.


You forgot to say the "I do" part in your role as the groom.


What?


You forgot to say --


I heard you the first time, Mr. Know-It-All.

Sorry, folks, this won't take a second:

Ahem: Do I personally take you, Babette, in the exact same way that you just said that you took me just a minute ago? And I'm like: Um... do chickens have lips? Or, to put it mildly: I most indubitably do, love cakes -- and how!

Or should I have said "I will"? Oh, never mind.

Right, NOW the ring, Sammy.

With this ring, Babette...


"I thee wed."


Shush! I know the line, Sammy: I was just pausing for effect, you moron!

With this ring... I thee wed!

And now I'll be happy to learn that I may kiss the bride -- if only this tall and lanky scarecrow named Samuel Taylor here would get out of my flippin' way, that is. Oh, you -- Look, you go left and I'll go right, Sammy, okay?! Jeepers! You clumsy --

1, 2, 3, and move!

Ah, my dear Babette. May I have this kiss?

On 3, then, Babs: 1, 2, 3, and... KISS!

Mwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Oh, I'm sorry, hold on a minute, darling. I'm afraid that Organist Ann has just missed her cue: Oh, Ann, dear: you're supposed to strike up that Wagnerian Wedding March as soon as our lips meet. That's no problem. We'll just do one last take:

Ready, Babs? This time with feeling, yes?

Lights, camera, lipstick!

Mwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!




Right, and now we sashay merrily over here to the nave --


That's the narthex.


Sammy Taylor, you better be happy that I've finally settled down with Babette here. Back in my face-saving bachelor days, I would have beaned you one for that last remark of yours.

Hmm, I hear that rice throwing has gone out of favor at weddings for environmental reasons. I wonder with what politically correct substitute we're about to be pelted, my dear.

That's it, Ann, keep going: from the top with another verse of the Wedding March. Ann Jackson on organ, ladies and gentlemen. Well done, Ann!