This weekend’s connubial celebrations and ceremonies were beauteous and painful, magical and bittersweet, yet knowing that love and marriage do exist in the world touched my gnarled, once golden, now blackened heart and gave me hope for the first time since I was 28 years old—or perhaps it was the whiskey.
“What do I have to show for my 50 years of connubial bliss?” the old man shouted over the bar, “Nothin! Nothin but a gnarled soul, empty bank account, and gonorrhea. ”
“Well Mr. Edwards, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that you can now enjoy connubial relations once again and make love to your wife as you did before the accident. The bad news is that you’ll be doing so with the gnarled, twisted tree branch I surgically attached in the place of your penis.”