a
hundred times easier than even saying "hello" to her. His stomach
tightened and he looked away. He made a mental note not to look at
her during the speech.
Mayor Al looked at him. "You feeling okay,
Mike? You look pale."
Mike gave him a sickly half-smile. "I'm fine.
Just nervous."
"Imagine everyone in their skivvies, like I
said. Makes 'em look ridiculous, and it puts you at ease."
"I might have to try that." I hope
not .
"Well, here we go. Can't wait around
forever." With that, Mayor Al approached the podium and turned on
the microphone.
"Friends, Romans, countrymen -- lend me your
ears," he said, and a ripple of appreciative laughter went through
the crowd. "I've always wanted to say that. Welcome to the
Sesquicentennial Celebration of the founding of our fair town." A
cheer from the crowd.
"We would not be standing here today,
together, as the community we've become, without the sacrifices
made by our forefathers. On this day each year, we pause to
remember those who paved the way for us. This year, we have asked
local historian and librarian Michael Baldridge to speak to us
concerning the founding of our home town."
He turned. "Mike? Will you do the
honors?"
Michael rose and made his way to the podium
on shaky knees. He shook the mayor's hand and took a deep breath. They're all your friends . "Good morning, fellow citizens of
Newtonberg. While doing research for this speech, I discovered..."
His voice caught.
He coughed, cleared his throat and tried
again, his voice trembling. "While doing research..." His voice
caught again.
He took a deep breath. Step two. They're
all in their underwear . He looked through the crowd. Cliff's
in his boxers and a tee shirt . That was a funny little image.
He glanced at the mayor. Old Al's in holey BVDs! He choked
back a chuckle and continued. "In doing research for this speech, I
discovered that if General Newton's memory and sense of direction
had been better, we might not be here at all."
He was doing fine. He went on, made it
through the history and into the anecdotes about their relatives.
As he told them, he'd look at the descendants, imagining them in
their underwear. One about Jeremiah Nelson, Oliver and Orville's
great uncle, who'd had the entire town caught up in fear of a black
panther roaming his property until he'd discovered it was just his
old dog who'd fallen in the oil pit out behind Johnson's Texaco.
( Oliver and Orville are in briefs and knee socks. Identical.
They're twins, after all! ). Or how Henry Albert Johnson's
second trip to Louisiana actually ended up in Mexico because he got
turned around in the woods. ( The Widow Missus is wearing Fruit
of the Looms and a sports bra. He had to admit, that one
creeped him out a bit.)
He continued. "Then we come to saga of the
Right Reverend Joseph Carmichael." He glanced over
instinctively.
At Janet.
Oh no.
For the purposes of decency, I won't describe
what she was wearing in his reverie, but suffice it to say that it
choked him up so bad he reached out, grabbed the whiskey, and
downed it in one shot.
He might have been all right after that. He
might have been able to continue the speech and even finish it, if
the cat hadn't chosen that moment to brush past his legs.
Unseen by anyone, a cat had wandered into the
pavilion and had been making its way through the crowd. During his
speech, it had made its way to the stage and come up behind him. It
rubbed up against his legs just as he'd downed the whiskey.
He screamed. What else could he do? He
screamed and dashed out of the pavilion. The cat quietly exited
from the back of the stage, still unseen by anyone.
As the crowd murmured in astonishment, the
mayor did what he could to salvage what sanctity remained.
"Ladies and gentleman, we've heard this
morning about the history of our town and its founders -- even if
the speech did end in a bit of an unorthodox manner. As we go
through the rest of this day, have fun, by all means. Enjoy
yourselves. But please take
hundred times easier than even saying "hello" to her. His stomach
tightened and he looked away. He made a mental note not to look at
her during the speech.
Mayor Al looked at him. "You feeling okay,
Mike? You look pale."
Mike gave him a sickly half-smile. "I'm fine.
Just nervous."
"Imagine everyone in their skivvies, like I
said. Makes 'em look ridiculous, and it puts you at ease."
"I might have to try that." I hope
not .
"Well, here we go. Can't wait around
forever." With that, Mayor Al approached the podium and turned on
the microphone.
"Friends, Romans, countrymen -- lend me your
ears," he said, and a ripple of appreciative laughter went through
the crowd. "I've always wanted to say that. Welcome to the
Sesquicentennial Celebration of the founding of our fair town." A
cheer from the crowd.
"We would not be standing here today,
together, as the community we've become, without the sacrifices
made by our forefathers. On this day each year, we pause to
remember those who paved the way for us. This year, we have asked
local historian and librarian Michael Baldridge to speak to us
concerning the founding of our home town."
He turned. "Mike? Will you do the
honors?"
Michael rose and made his way to the podium
on shaky knees. He shook the mayor's hand and took a deep breath. They're all your friends . "Good morning, fellow citizens of
Newtonberg. While doing research for this speech, I discovered..."
His voice caught.
He coughed, cleared his throat and tried
again, his voice trembling. "While doing research..." His voice
caught again.
He took a deep breath. Step two. They're
all in their underwear . He looked through the crowd. Cliff's
in his boxers and a tee shirt . That was a funny little image.
He glanced at the mayor. Old Al's in holey BVDs! He choked
back a chuckle and continued. "In doing research for this speech, I
discovered that if General Newton's memory and sense of direction
had been better, we might not be here at all."
He was doing fine. He went on, made it
through the history and into the anecdotes about their relatives.
As he told them, he'd look at the descendants, imagining them in
their underwear. One about Jeremiah Nelson, Oliver and Orville's
great uncle, who'd had the entire town caught up in fear of a black
panther roaming his property until he'd discovered it was just his
old dog who'd fallen in the oil pit out behind Johnson's Texaco.
( Oliver and Orville are in briefs and knee socks. Identical.
They're twins, after all! ). Or how Henry Albert Johnson's
second trip to Louisiana actually ended up in Mexico because he got
turned around in the woods. ( The Widow Missus is wearing Fruit
of the Looms and a sports bra. He had to admit, that one
creeped him out a bit.)
He continued. "Then we come to saga of the
Right Reverend Joseph Carmichael." He glanced over
instinctively.
At Janet.
Oh no.
For the purposes of decency, I won't describe
what she was wearing in his reverie, but suffice it to say that it
choked him up so bad he reached out, grabbed the whiskey, and
downed it in one shot.
He might have been all right after that. He
might have been able to continue the speech and even finish it, if
the cat hadn't chosen that moment to brush past his legs.
Unseen by anyone, a cat had wandered into the
pavilion and had been making its way through the crowd. During his
speech, it had made its way to the stage and come up behind him. It
rubbed up against his legs just as he'd downed the whiskey.
He screamed. What else could he do? He
screamed and dashed out of the pavilion. The cat quietly exited
from the back of the stage, still unseen by anyone.
As the crowd murmured in astonishment, the
mayor did what he could to salvage what sanctity remained.
"Ladies and gentleman, we've heard this
morning about the history of our town and its founders -- even if
the speech did end in a bit of an unorthodox manner. As we go
through the rest of this day, have fun, by all means. Enjoy
yourselves. But please take
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