Me and Mortimer—Chapter Nine: “Mortimer’s Wedding”

You remember me tellin’ you last week that Mortimer was about to get  hisself married? Well, he actually found a woman that would tolerate his company brownnosing attitude! Honestly, I didn’t think ol’ Mort could do better, matrimonially, than find some desperate old widow needin’ help with her half-dozen out-of-control brats left over from a previous marriage, but he surprised me.

But, last Saturday, it actually happened! Mort got hitched! My wife and I was invited to the wedding, and I met Mort’s wife for the first time. I was quite surprised—and had to admit, Mort made a pretty good catch! She’s really a good lookin’, sexy broad and seems like she’s got smarts—at least more smarts than that company brownnoser she married! I just hope she can educate Mort so that he can get along better with me at work than he has in the past.

The ceremony was the usual schmaltzy stuff, with each of them trading mushy vows that made some of the guests wipe tears from their eyes. About those vows, I say there’s only one important one. A man marries a woman to take care of him, period! And that’s all he needs to tell her. I can’t understand why it’s necessary to have to add all this lovey-dovey stuff to the vows! If my wife feeds me and washes my clothes, I respects her. Sheesh! What more could a good wife want from a guy?

They also put on a pretty good lunch. My wife said—at least I think that’s what she called it: Balsamic glazed chicken thighs. Whatever—the main thing is, it was chicken, and it was good! I don’t understand why some folk spend so much time giving fancy names to what they’re eating. As if it’s gonna make the food taste better! I was gonna go and have a third helping, but my wife stopped me. She said I shouldn’t make a pig of myself.

The frustrating part of the refreshments, though, was they didn’t serve real refreshments like they do at football games. They served some kinda imported wine from Chile. My wife said—again, that’s what I think she said—I don’t pay much attention to them fancy foreign names, but I think she called it Merlot, and it was a red wine. Too sweet for my taste. I prefer beer, so I only had two glasses of the stuff. They also served the wine in those long-stemmed crystal glasses. At first, I was scared to pick up one of them glasses in fear I’d break the stem, but at this point, I really needed a drink, so I took the risk. Again, I prefer good ol’ beer glasses. They’s tough and they’re used to rough handlin’ by guys like me.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to mention the preacher that was there to marry Mortimer and his lady. Surprising thing is, it wasn’t a he: it was a she preacher! She was dressed in a ordinary business suit and looked like anybody else at the wedding. If my wife hadn’t of pointed her out to me as being a preacher, I’d of guessed she was just one of the several other women there who didn’t have a man to support her.

I don’t think God intended women to be preachers! Personally, I prefer the old-fashioned men-type preachers: men dressed in black with all kinds of fancy gold and white decorations on their robes and hats. Makes them look important and reverend and pious sounding—something like a politician who’s just got caught committing a mortal sin and needs confessing: makes you almost want to believe them!

After lunch they cleared the floor and brought out the band. Not a superior quality band, like we used to have when I was younger, but a bunch of kids with those loud electric guitars and drums, and they was yellin’ into their mics and jumpin’ around and twistin’ on stage like their jeans was too tight and they needed to scratch but couldn’t reach the itch! That’s when me and the wife left the wedding! It was even too much for her.

About eleven o’clock, Mortimer and his new bride took off on their honeymoon, and Mort will be gone from the office for the rest of the week.

That’s all the news I have about the wedding itself.  Right now, I’m sittin’ here at my desk in the office, just twiddlin’ my thumbs while I’m talkin’ to you …

sheesh! … Good thing you’re a good listener! Makes it lonely, not havin’ Mort here. Thank goodness at least I got you to talk to and tell you about the latest happenings here at the company and between me and Mort. Makes the day go faster when I can just talk to someone.

… Yeah, I know, know!  I could put away those files before going home early again, but the office boy only brought a few files for me to file today, and Mort’s not here to check on me, so I think I’ll wait ‘till tomorrow to file them.

What do you think of the two extra police the town’s hired last week? One of the cops is even a woman, can you believe that? What if she has to arrest some big, drunken bum? How’s she gonna get the cuffs on him?

Personally, I don’t see where crime is on the increase in town. Just ‘cause there was a drunken brawl outside the pub that hurt that one woman and her kid and the news carried it for nearly a week, don’t mean we need more cops! What was the woman with her kid doing on the streets so late at night, anyway? And where was her husband? He shoulda been there protecting his wife and kid! Anyone with superior sense, like I have, knows that women are the weaker sex and shouldn’t be on the streets at night without an escort! That’s what husbands are for: to protect their wives if they ever has gotta be out late at night.

And, as for the kids, they shouldn’t be on the streets after dark to begin with. Sure, there are more cases of drug use in our area today then when I was a kid; break-ins and vandalism, but I say, all the more reason for women and kids to stay home after dark where it’s safer and they can be better protected by their husbands.

Also, I gotta ask your opinion about our town paper. I read in the editorial that the owner is askin’ the town to pitch in with some money. The owner figures that, since his paper is a small-town paper and don’t got the circulation a big city has, nor the advertising revenue, that he needs a little extra help in keeping the paper going. He sez that a newspaper is a town’s life blood and information source, but I disagree with him.

I’m sure you still remember the Crown and Star pub that used to be located on ninth street and second avenue.  It finally shut its doors about six months ago. It wanted some help from the town, but the town said that the pub wasn’t a vital business, like a newspaper, so they wouldn’t help them, even though the pub ran weekly bingos which, in my superior opinion, made it a social center for town gossip and news, no different than a newspaper.

Sheesh! Some folk is sure picky about what they calls news!

Speaking of news and newspapers, I gotta tell you, one thing I faithfully reads every morning in the paper, it’s my horoscope. If you really want to know what your day is gonna be like, read your horoscope. Just to show you how accurate them horoscopes are, here’s what mine sez for today. By the way, I’m a Libra.

It may at times be annoying that not everyone sees things the same way as you see things, but if they did, life would be hugely boring, which is far worse.” See how factual a horoscope is? That defines me to a “T”. Not many folks agrees with my superior views, but I just gotta accept that most folks just ain’t as smart as I am!

… Oh my gosh! I see it’s almost three o’clock. I hope you ain’t gonna be mad at me for running out on you like this without tellin’ you more news, but I gotta rush or I’ll miss my bus. My wife needed the car this morning, so I had to take the bus.

See you next week!

About Albert Schindler

I was born on the 27th of February, 1931, on a farm near Hubbard, Saskatchewan. As far back as I can remember I had a spirit that would not stay earthbound. In junior high, I remember taking first place for a short story in which I described my terrifying encounter with a dinosaur. In outer space – that is, when the teacher wasn’t directly speaking to me, I went where Buck Rogers wouldn’t dare go. I was more of a Calvin in Calvin and Hobbes type of guy, with my own, personal, very powerful, transmogrifyer always at the ready. In my ‘teens and twenties, I pushed aside my Calvin alter ego in favour of making a living and didn’t take seriously again my ‘writer’s bug’ until my late 30s. I still saw that the world as full of exciting things to learn and investigate, which my writing reflected in the several articles and a couple of short fiction pieces that I wrote and sold, including over 30 children’s radio plays for Alberta’s ACCESS Radio. Unfortunately, I abandoned my budding writing career in favour of starting my own business as a sign painter. Now that I can officially call myself ‘retired,’ I plan to resume my writing career, only this time, writing mostly fiction. Why fiction? I have lead a great, adventurous life in which I made many mistakes (the ‘adventure’ in life), that have taught me some very important lessons and allowed my spirit to grow to unimaginable proportions, inconceivable to me while still in my thirties. In fiction, I believe, one can adventure into both the inner and outer consciousness of man and the universe to infinite levels where only the boldest dare peak. Convention holds that article writing has to be factual – oh, you can be creative in how you present your information, but ‘fact’ (whatever that means) still must have its parameters in article writing, whereas fiction is limited only by the size of a writer’s spirit, and so far, I haven’t been able to fathom my limit.
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