I’m sitting at my desk looking at a picture of myself at our son, Phinias’, wedding. It’s reminded me of the scary tale of The Wicked Witch of the Wedding
One day a child announces they plan to marry the love of their life. Immediately a spell is cast upon the mother – an evil spell.
In the beginning stages, right after the engagement, euphoria rains down on her. But then, her hair begins to turn grey and her fingernails sharpen into claws.
“I know you said it was a small wedding but why can’t we invite all my friends? They’re like family.”
Then bit-by-bit, her sparkling eyes turn dark and bloodshot and her previously clear skin begins to sag and wrinkle.
“What do you mean you want to choose your own place for your wedding? I thought we’d have it our back yard.”
Before the mother knows it, the wedding day has arrived and she’s found screaming at one of her loving brothers who’s graciously volunteered to be the photographer.
“What are you thinking? Stop everything! There’s a shadow on the bride’s face.”
Ten minutes before the outdoor ceremony is to begin, the farmer in the field across the road begins to work in his field. And, although no one else seems to notice, the roar of the combine screams through the her ears.
The mother/witch careens around on her broom demanding that “Some…One…D0…Something!”
She’s finally seated and the ceremony begins. One of her brothers points out that the bride’s train is slightly askew. He convinces the mother she should get up from her seat and yank the offending fabric into place.
“Sorry. Excuse me. This will just take a minute.” And the transformation is complete. She’s become The Wicked Witch of the Wedding.
Somewhere in the Universe, a good witch sends out another spell that travels through a twister and lands on the Wicked Witch, striking her down with a debilitating migraine. As her punishment she must spend the entire reception vomiting in the ladies room, unable to participate in the long anticipated mother/son dance.
The spell is finally broken and she is able to drag her weak and sweat-soaked body out of the bathroom in time to see the blissful couple head off to live happily ever after.
Note to our other son, Ferb: If you’re reading this – know that I’ve learned my lesson and I’m certain that when you’re ready to marry I’ll be much better behaved. I realize now that our backyard is no place for a wedding, but (cackle, cackle – I mean cough, cough) would it be okay if I invited all my friends?