It was the wedding of the decade, with the rich and famous for miles around flocking to view the nuptials. The reception afterwards was a smashing success, with the flashbulbs of the paparazzi lighting up the night and the gossip columnists rhapsodizing in the evening editions of all the important newspapers. But once the household staff had finally closed the door on the last of the revelers, the blushing bride knew that she had to address an issue with her new husband that was becoming alarmingly apparent.
Mae: “Darling?”
Frank: “Unnh…”
Mae: “I couldn’t help but notice something odd about you, so I have to ask…”
Frank: “Unnh….”
Mae: “Please don’t think it rude of me, you know I will always love you no matter what, but even the staff has been mentioning it lately and…”
Frank: “Unnnnh…”
Mae: “Why have you been wearing my panties?”
Frank: “Wait, what? I thought surely you were going to ask me about-”
Mae: “I mean, I know that you come from Bavaria or somewhere that has different traditions and different food and money that looks fake and all that, but here in our country we don’t go about wearing the bloomers of our loved ones. It simply isn’t done.”
Frank: “So that bothers you more than the fact that I have a flat head, the emotional maturity of a cactus, and studs in my neck that can get wi-fi from Sri Lanka?”
Mae: “Oh, Frankie, dearest, none of that is important. This is America. You can vote without having a properly-functioning brain, no one ever expects the males to fully mature, and if you can provide our friends with a hotspot to the Internet then they will ignore everything else going on around them. Except when it comes to sex. Some Americans are really hung up on what others might do in their own bedrooms. So, I can’t have you brazenly romping about in my thong, as it calls into question what might go on in our boudoir once the lights are dim and the absinthe has been uncorked, among other things. After all, I’m up for vice-president of the Garden Club and I really don’t need that horrible Agnetha Thornwick mucking things up with a photo of you parading around in my feminine finery.”
Frank: “How would Agnetha have possession of such a thing?”
Mae: “Well, one of the maids chanced upon you during one of your… private floor shows. As she was standing so near to you, she had an excellent signal and couldn’t resist posting her discovery to the Discovery Channel website. You’re currently number three on their buzz list with a trending hashtag. Anyway, I can deal with Agnetha, should the situation arise since I know what she did at band camp. Still, I need you to stop channeling Gypsy Rose Lee. It’s a small thing to ask, really.”
Frank: “For the sake of our newly-minted marriage?”
Mae: “Honey, there’s no sake in our marriage. You’re technically dead. I already own your fortune. No, I need you to scale it back a bit so I can springboard from Garden Club Vice-President to State Senator, which is another American way of doing things. Now, run off to bed whilst I do some damage control on social media.”
Frank, sighing: “Okay, my soulless soulmate. I’ll go lay face down in the coldness of our matrimonial mattress and try to figure out how this became as twisted as it is, with me once again wondering about my life choices and why it’s so hard for the reanimated to find true love.
Mae: “Splendid. Night, night, poodle. Oh, and Frankie?”
Frank: “Yes, Medusa?”
Mae: “Hand over my thong. I know you’ve got one on right now.”
Frank: “But can’t I keep at least one of them? For special occasions. We’ve got that gala at the Museum of Modern Art next week.”
Mae: “Fine. You can feel pretty for the Warhol exhibition. But after that, the panties go on the down low. There are far too many people who can post things on the Internet these days who really shouldn’t do so without supervision.”
Originally published in “Crusty Pie” on 10/27/15 and “Bonnywood Manor” on 08/16/16. Some changes made, because I’m one of those unsupervised people who can’t leave things alone when they should…
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
How on earth do you come up with these Brian?? A great start to my Sunday morning – had me laughing out loud :O) xx
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I’m sure it has something to do with me spending far too much time by myself as a child… 😉
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Poor Frankie, social media has a lot to answer for, even if you are from Bavaria.
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Of course, one also has to wonder why Mae doesn’t keep better track of her thongs…
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Frankishly freaky.
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Such a poet, you are…
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O know – eeek 🙂
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Interesting story. Enjoyed reading it. Thanks .
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Thanks, Gary!
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🙂 I needed a good laugh today. This one caused me to laugh so loudly that I think I may have woken up some sleeping wildlife in the garden.
Agnetha Thornwick! Where do you come up with these names? lol
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I’m just happy when you are happy, even if you are a bit loud… 😉
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LOL <—-I know, I know. Inadequate, lazy. But I AM laughing out loud and I have to get ready for our brunch! *cheers* 😁🍹
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Brunch? What is this brunch of which you speak? I know nothing of the brunch before me…
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Always great imagination in these Brian.
studs in my neck that can get wi-fi from Sri Lanka?” – haha, brilliant
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Thanks, Fionn! (And yes, I got the reference…)
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*sedate snicker given it’s Sunday and one must not bwahahahah loudly, lest one pop one’s stitching*. Okay…I was all prepared for something like “Did you ever feel like something was behind you and you are scared to look, because sudden frights caused unsolicited peeing in older women?” And I got the hilarious bio clip of Hillary Clinton aka Mae whomever…(that AIN’T Mae West?? If so, what happened to her bosom??)
instead. 😉 I always wondered why she furtively kept pawing at her lower, er, parts…but figured it was just a little gift from Bill, the kind that is only cured with penicillan and visits to the local Department of Health…. Now I know that Frank(ie) had stretched out her thongs to the point of no return. Naughty Frankie…
If you’re wondering how I morphed Mae into H.C. – the whole Senator thingie was what brought Madame to mind. I hope I don’t get sued….
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This is so fascinatingly scrambled that I admire it greatly. I can’t imagine that you’ll get sued, but I can’t promise anything with the current state of American affairs. But speaking of that, should we be focused on the things behind us that might make us tinkle, or the things in front of us that should make other people tinkle but they don’t have a clue. The mysteries abound…
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Why are they having their wedding photos taken in the bedroom? A bit unusual. 😉
Really funny. Thanks for the laughs. 😀
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Well, if you’ve ever been to Oklahoma, then the bedroom wedding photos make some degree of sense. (Not a LOT, mind you, but some.)
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I did the google thing and found out she’s the one who got a grapefruit in the face? Goodness! First it’s a husband stealing her undies, then it’s a citrus to the kisser. What did they have against her, the poor darling.
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Interestingly enough, I have a Crusty Pie waiting in the wings that addresses the grapefruit-smashing. Sometimes I am fully prepared for sudden variances in life. Other times, debate ensues…
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