Junior Ganymede
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Gay Marriage, Jeeves

January 17th, 2014 by Bertie

What ho, what ho, what ho!

As a sagacious and experienced man of the world, I am often called on to render my two bits on the events of the day. In recent years one’s interlocutors have been rather pressing on this matter of what is called, if I have the terms right, frolicsome marriage. One isn’t au courant on all the details, of course, but begging pardon for any blushes mantling maidenly cheeks, as Jeeves explained it to me the whole caboodle has to do with a matrimony where the conjugal relations suffer from a distinct lack of variety. Rather! It hardly seems likely, but he insists. Buttonhole the fellow if you want more information.

But setting aside these wonkish explanations and getting down to the res, I used to let all and sundry know that as a tolerant and broadminded boulevardier, I did not absolutely raise the frosty eyebrow at the notion of getting hitched with bubbly gaiety, though averring that one personally would not be caught dead in a ditch entering the holy state of matrimony with any expression other than the traditional pallid shock, like the face upon which all the sorrows of the world have come.

But recently, much like this chappie here, I’ve done rather a volte-face, dash it. The only difference between self and the aforementioned chappie being that while his volte-face was done for reasons of conscience, mine was done on the advice of counsel, viz., Jeeves, self having become unfortunately engaged to La Glossop for the third time, and self needing something to cause noted nerve specialist Roddy Glossop to put a wrench in the works, and the aforesaid loony doc being frightfully keen on the notion of marriage being as sprightly as billy-o. I found myself under the stern necessity of standing foursquare against it. Which I did, with notable resource and manly firmness, even when Aunt Agatha went on the warpath. She called me a bigot and blotch on the proud escutcheon of inevitable progress and prophesied that when the revolution came I’d go to the tumbrils along with the Duc D’Enghien and Mitt Romney, and even compared me with Hitler. Which, I must say, strikes me as dashed unfair. At present, the Wooster mug doesn’t even have a mustache.

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January 17th, 2014 13:20:22
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