We were planning our dear friend Rita's Bachelorette Party. So I guess I blame both Leap Day and Whitney and Rita for my missed blog post. I certainly won't be taking the blame.
In honor of my scapegoats, I've written a knock-off of the 'Night Before Christmas' poem and turned it into a Rita/Dylan/wedding poem. Kind of. I also created a creepy photo montage.
Happy Good Friday, friends!
'Tis the day before the day before Easter, and all through my house
Arts & crafts from RBPPN [Rita's Bachelorette Party Planning Night] are still scattered, and I think I just saw a mouse.
We're not coordinating our GFT [Good Friday Tradition] of eggs and tasks this year.
Let's promise to pick it back up in 2013. For now, have a beer.
I bet the children at Rita's work are nestled all snug in their hospital beds,
While visions of Rita's traditional family wedding dance music can't get out of their heads.
Soon Rita will be a mamma in a 'kerchief, and Dylan will look like he's wearing a balding cap,
All the while Whitney will still be Asian, and I'll probably be in the middle of a narcoleptic nap.
In the city we don't really have lawns, but there's always a great deal of clatter.
I'm calling the police so they can see what is the matter.
I just looked out the window and saw a bright flash.
Hey, remember that game we played as kids.... I think it was called "MASH"?
Wouldn't it be weird if it started to snow?
I guess it'd need to be freezing, or below.
I lost my favorite pair of sunglasses; I sure hope they appear,
If not, I'll check with both the Easter Bunny and one of Santa's Reindeer.
I hope our limo driver is lively and quick,
I wish it wasn't too late to book 'ole St. Nick.
He'd be rapid like eagles and he's totes fame,
And he'll whistle and shout and call us all by name!
"Now Rita! now, Whitney! now, Dylan and Billy!
On, Jenna! On Holly! You all stop being silly!
To the top of the church! to the top of the steeple!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away people!"
How sweet would it be to have a wedding party bus/limo that can fly?
When we get annoyed with traffic, we'll just mount to the sky!
Up to the house-tops, it'd be so much fun with our crew,
With Santa's sleigh full of bridesmaids, and groomsmen too.
We can dress all in fur, from head to foot.
And our clothes can be tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of flowers, Rita will fling from her back.
And she'll look like a peddler, just opening her pack.
Dylan's eyes, how they'll twinkle. His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks cut from roses thorns, his nose sniffing that cherry!
His droll little mouth will be pinned with a bow,
And the beard of his chin will be as white as snow.
The stump of a pipe he'll hold tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it will encircle his head like a wreath.
He'll have a broad face and a little round belly,
That'll shake when he laughs, like a bowlful of jelly!
Someday, Rita, he'll be chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I'll laugh when I see him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Will remind you that you have nothing to dread.
He'll speak not a word, but go straight to his work,
And he'll work on never again being a jerk.
He'll use his finger to pick his nose,
And every Valentine's Day, he'll give you a rose!
In the springtime, he'll walk around with you and whistle,
And he'll fly away like the down of a thistle.
You'll hear him exclaim, 'ere he drives out of sight,
"Happy Wedding Day to Rita, and to all a good-night!"
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