There is a Brisbane plumber out there today with his head in a toilet wondering what the hell happened to him last Sunday night.
It sounds melodramatic and maybe I will once again embellish some details but basically there is a Brisbane plumber out there right now wondering how the hell he drew the short straw to be sat next to me at the Wedding of Lord and Lady Schluter.
You see it all started off pleasant. Usual kind introductions and small talk of what our occupations were. He said he was a dirty plumber and of course I instantly said .. Right I bet you are. Which may or may not got me off on the wrong foot.
In my defence, the waiters kept bringing me different things to drink either that or I was just picking up anyone’s drink and drinking it…which may have been the case once. Corona and lime .. yes please. Corona and lime removed from my hand by its rightful owner. Corona and lime snatched back by me inserting an evil eye. Rightful owner retreats back to the bar to find another Corona and lime.
So in all the small talk of occupations and how we knew the Bride and Groom I came up with the wonderful idea that the Dirty Plumber and I should put ourselves forward to be God Parents to any future children of the marriage. The Dirty Plumber was like … what the fuck?
But I was serious.
We had known each other all of an hour but I was pretty sure that as God Parents to the Schluter children we would do just fine. Especially when they throw their Barbies in the toilet. (well one of us would do just fine in this case .. the other one wouldn’t answer her phone)
In planning our God Parent roles I asked if the Dirty Plumber had a favourite childs name he hoped to call his kid one day. He didn’t want to tell me incase I stole the name. I was like really? Dude I am like 45 with 3 kids that have amazing names so screw you if you think your name would make me want to get knocked up again. (So I lied about my age but not anything else. I love my kids names.)
Anyway, it didn’t take much more annoying of the Dirty Plumber for him to come out with his favourite name. (I am not allowed to tell you though incase you steal it.) Anyway I refused to accept the shortened version that he preferred (the one I am not allowed to mention) but for the purpose of this story, the name was ‘Edward’. So with that I pulled out my favourite name of all time and one I won’t be using unless of some sort of devine intervention. OLIVE.
I was possibly squealing with excitement by this stage and totally missed the fact that my frigging nice slab of steak was swapped for the chicken in the alternate drop. Possible because it was all The Dirty Plumber could do to not slap me with it.
It wasn’t long and the Bride and Groom were cutting the cake and I was distracted with another amazing idea (why don’t we be the wedding singers?) which possibly allowed The Dirty Plumber to escape for a rock in the corner somewhere.
What stopped me from taking the wedding singer idea just that little bit further was seeing the big love going on out on the dance floor. Honestly, it floored me for the second time in a matter of hours.
Now Lord Schluter, he is a bit of a dish right .. and Lady Nat well she is like the hottest thing ever and as he was spinning her round and round and round .. they were sooooo in love.
It was like he was staring deeply into her beautiful brown eyes and letting her know that he would always take the trash out. Always bring her cups of tea in bed. Always rub her stinky feet after work. Always cook dinner for her neurotic friend who drives from Kingaroy to Brisbane in a shit storm of anxiety. And you know will always love her like the day he first laid eyes on her and nothing in between.
So with that I gave up on becoming the wedding singer and sat there pondering BIG LOVE.
And with that The Dirty Plumber was possibly thanking his lucky stars for the sudden silence. He was possibly also praying that we would be passed over as God Parents for other people far more responsible and less likely to have an involuntary mental health order invoked on them.
Lord Rice’s Advice … no idea where my advice went.