Is marriage a business? When the dear little woman pulls down my head to hers and whispers “my mate” and, er, well, one needn’t elaborate. . . . Hardly here or there, what? The point, the thing I’m driving at, if you get me, is that one hardly associates the lovebird stuff with the green eye-shade set. Bertram isn’t actually married yet, I hear you saying, and I gracefully concede the objection. But I hardly see how a few well-expressed vows in front of a beneficent clergyman will transmute the bwessed awwangement into pots o’ goblins. Dashed nonsense.
June 16th, 2011 by Bertie