Mercury.
Yee-haw.
That’s not much of an introduction, just a “yee-haw,” but that covers a lot of ground. I was meeting with clients – okay, the folks I’m set to marry Saturday night – they’re getting married, I’m not, like marrying either one of them – and the “wife to be” is an Aries. That’s four Aries in one day. Plus a mighty, mighty Leo.
Near as I could tell, all the Aries were suffering from basic, Mercury-is-still-retrograde problems. Communications. Or lack thereof. In one case, the last one, I was just greatly amused, and I could just see that Aries woman slapping me and the groom, “Would you two grow up for a second?” Poor dear. Stressed with what has to be the second most enjoyable way to get hitched, on boat, in the middle of the lake, at sunset, with bats overhead, and at least one-half of the wedding party suitably intoxicated on alcohol.
Me? I live like a monk.
(I agreed to officiate for two reasons: money and fishing. “Can I bring a fishing pole?”)
I offered to slip in a few extra lines on the vows, like, “Dude, she wrote this stuff, she’s a lawyer, you’re toast.”
Plus, in the invocation, there seems to be a little problem, we got your fundamental xtians, then there’s the other side, basically heathen, and for the bride herself, we need to invoke the Goddess, plus there’s Buddha, Jesus, and, “Hey, don’t forget Allah,” she said.
I got nothing against the real Muslim Faith (don’t confuse it with malefactors & bad imitations), but I was thinking, out loud, that maybe I could just skip that one deity. Don’t want to get in religious argument on a wedding night.
Tex-Mex Wednesday. Think that might be a new title? Of course, the only relation between Tex-Mex and Wednesday was the hot sauce. Or maybe something else.
