My Wedding

Local girl Ms Arabella madam, and her fiancé master George sir, have just gotten married. Before they head off on honeymoon they have arranged to witness another happy ceremony – albeit a mock one – namely my marriage to a pair of Ms Arabella’s dirty, grey socks.

The Gynarchy priest reads through the solemn vows:

‘Slave, wilt thou have these stinky socks to be thy lawfully wedded wife? Wilt thou love them, comfort them, honour and keep them, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others keep thee only unto these dirty socks for as long as ye both shall live?’

I must humbly play along, for the benefit and amusement of the master and mistress:

‘I will, master the priest sir, if it pleases you master your holiness the priest sir.’

‘Very well. By the authority invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the socks’.

How the assembled free persons all laugh at me as I kiss my new ‘brides’ on the cheek, for I am now wedded to Ms Arabella madam’s socks, till death us do part!









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