Choosy Moms Choose...

It was a beautiful, though sweltering, summer day. My friends D&J were getting married in a local park, amidst the vivid green of a Midwest weekend. The tents were up, the mead chilled, the keg cooling. The dress code was casual and comfortable, and thus I chose to wear my Utilikilt for comfort and style.

The ceremony was lovely, and I was pleased to meet the bride J’s family from out-of-state. Given that the beer was flowing, this was a bit of a treat, for the most part. Little did I know that I was about to enter the annals of Wedding Legends the land over.

Amidst the glow of both the setting sun and a fair amount of mead, I was standing with Wifefish when J’s mom approached me. She looked, as many people do, at the kilt and asked, “Are you wearing it correctly?”

“Of course,” I quickly (and accurately) replied. It was a damn hot day, and some underkilt breeze is a heavenly thing, my friends.

“No you’re not.”

I’ve been party to exchanges like this once or twice before, and so I asserted that I was, in fact, purely Regimental. “I don’t believe you,” she exclaimed, her hands grasping the hem of my garment. She looked at Wifefish, who smiled broadly and said “Go ahead!”

I’ll take the Scottish Flower for $1000 Alex.

The answer: proudly displayed by Scotsmen and other Celts for ages.

What is “My Prickly Thistle”.

Correct!

Thank you, Alex.

Up went the kilt. Wide went the eyes of J’s mom. Time seemed to stop, her hand frozen for an eternal second of disbelief until she released the kilt, allowing gravity to reassert my modesty. Wifefish laughed heartily, as did J. The mother of the bride then ran from me, face flushed red in embarrassment and humor, laughing all the way. “I thought he was lying!” she nearly shrieked. The laughter rang out loudly, as we continued our reveling.

The time came for me to make our goodbyes and head home for the evening, and I ended up speaking briefly to J’s mom. I told her how glad we all were for her daughter, knowing she missed her now that she’s moved here, but that we are all better for her presence.

“Thank you,” she said. She started to walk away, then hesitated. With an impish grin, she turned to me and said “Nice penis, by the way!” I couldn’t help but laugh, and it was my turn to blush a bit. Dad always told me that I’d be rewarded if I told the truth, and this day was no exception.

Needless to say, J and I now have a special connection, and a great story that we love to share.