This is entirely fiction. Completely. Utterly. Except for any true bits
May 27th. The First Of Her Name has not spoken since I rose at 7.32 pm. This is not a good sign. When I tentatively prompt her with: ‘Anything untoward, Light Of My Existence?’ she points me to the Operations Centre (Wedding) formerly known as the dining room. On the flip-chart two words to curdle any robust gut and send chills through a man’s spleen, have been scratched, no scoured on the surface. ‘Guest List’.
I knew this was coming but like my A level results and my inguinal hernia I always hoped somehow I might be able to sort sleep past them and wake to find them already history. This area has more red-lines than a dyslexic’s spelling test. The difficulty is, of course to try and identify which particular red line has unexpectedly gone straight in at number one. A discrete check of the previous sheets on the flip chart indicates it might be a relative issue.
I make coffee. I take her hand – loosely since I may need to move quickly if I say the wrong thing. Taking a deep breathe, I offer, ‘Aunts?’
A nod. Okay, let’s narrow the field. ‘Joan? Marjorie?’
Two shakes but equally my fingers are still attached. ‘Great Aunts?’
A nod. Then ‘Doris.’
Great Aunt Doris is a torturer, formerly for the Inquisition and as a member of the Waffen SS, if Great Uncle Nesbit’s testimony can be relied on as the repository of family history. She came to our wedding, pronounced herself ‘disappointed’ at me, offered First Of Her Name to pay for a gigolo ‘so you don’t have to wait two years to divorce the maggot’ and left, having cut herself a slice of cake before we’d had the speeches.
I offer: ‘It’s probably for the best if she doesn’t come.’
My guard must have dropped as I register the change in colour of my fingers before the pain hits. ‘Cretin. First Born insists on her coming with her new fancy man. She said she wants to know why we’ve cut Doris out of her life.’
Later, in A&E the Fiancé rings me to check on the extent of my injury (bruised tendons, three weeks of minimal use and no squeezing which the junior registrar insists on demonstrating by the use of an obscene gesture). The Fiancé explains that First Born googled Great Aunt Doris and found her listed as the third richest widow in Rutland. The invite and the possibility of a place in her Will are, he insists, unlinked.
Still processing, this news when he adds: ‘First Of Her Name says she won’t come if Great Aunt Doris does.’
Momentary vision of cancelled wedding, money back and a summer free ruined when I punch the air and have to have broken hand re-triaged.
TanGental 
Because of the switch around, I keep imagining the groom in a dress … bad, bad
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Everything is possible in this Faustian world of nightmarish visions
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You are insisting on making this event as hilarious as possible, aren’t you?
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One does ones best to see the absurd in the otherwise ordinary
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Great Aunt Doris sounds like quite a character – so hope we get to meet her!
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I will give her a role. Sort of Banquo in kitten heels and smelling of lavender and empty graves…
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It will only get much worse!
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As you will see…
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Arrrrrrrgh 🤭 !
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“Light of my existence.” What a line. I think I will use it. If it tanks then I’ll blame you and not Obama for once.
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I’m used to being barracked…
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I’m so enjoying this series but thinking it is just as well The Light of Your Existence doesn’t read your blog…….
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But the First Born does, Or at least the character on whom the First Born is based, not that there’s the slightest similarity…
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🙂 And of course they speak to each other – most inconvenient ……
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I’m sure it will come back to bite me
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At least you don’t have to deal with FOB married to interloper who replaced MOB who wants to sit near bride but MOB wants nothing to do with interloper. At least I hope you don’t.
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I think I can pick out the true bits – at least, I thought I could
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So, Doris, eh? … I’m sure that a lawyering lad such as yourself might be able to find some dirt on her Third-Richest-ness that will keep her in check and remind her of who’s the boss! 😀
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Oh don’t cross the aunts… aunts aren’t gentlemen
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I do hope you’ve changed names! I’m totally engrossed – next!
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Yep names aren’t true…
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