Dear Mister Ed

Let me tell you one thing, when it comes to gettin’ marryed up, they do things in Loss Vegas like no place else.

If yer thinkin’ of a big church decked out with candels and white flours, with a big organ playin’ and such, forget it.

I figgered somethink was up when Eva told Walt and I to forget the new Italyian duds she got made fer us a time back. Instead, we was to get ourselfs up in short pants and sandalls and floppy shirts with big pink flours the size of water mellons.

The Matron of Honner was taste fully arranged in a rig that looked to be made from clam shells and lawn clippin’s. If we was’nt in the dessert, you’d sware she jest warshed up on shore.

As fer the blushin’ bride, she was sportin’ somethink called a moo-moo that went all the ways down to her toes and looked like she jest popped outta the bath.

The four of us piled into this stretched-out limmozine with glass like a welders mask and headed off down the main drag. The rest of the gests was rite behind in two more cars exackly like ours.

If it was’nt fer the bucket of ice cold shampain in the car, I ain’t sure poor Walt wud of gone thru with it all. And when Maisy, the Matron of Honner started gettin’ frisky on me, I dang near baled out myself.

The place Eva had chose fer the big day was called The Blue Hawayii Weddin’ Grottoe.

First you grope yer way thru this long cave made of genyuwine fiber glass, lit with lavva lamps fresh from some 1958 yard sail.

Then you come to a room thats done up in blue lites, with a sort of kiddy pool in the middle and a water fall on the far side that looks like someone stuck a garden hose thru the back wall.

Finely the folks was in place. I and Walt was standin’ by the pool tryin’ not to get too much sand in our toes, when the musick starts up.

If you never heared “Here Comes the Bride” done in that twangy Hawayiian way, my advise is leave well enuff alone. We near bust out laffin’ till we seen how moved Eva was by the hole thing.

But what capped it off was the fella who marryed ’em up. Turns out he has the reputashun of bein’ the third-best Don Hoe immitator in all of Loss Vegas.

You ain’t lived, Darrol, till you seen a chunky feller in a four-dollar hair peace strum a plastick youkalaylee and sing an entire weddin’ servisse like its “Tiny Bubbles”.

Afterwords there was a grand spread of eats, more buckets of bubbles and too much speechin’. Eva called it her best day in 80 years and Walt said the smart thing, which was nothin’.

Round midnite the newlyweds flew off to Honnalulu. The rest of us … well, that’s fer next time.

Yer pal,

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