September 19th, 2007
|09:09 am - catching up a bit|
Can we please not do the Detroit Tiger thing?
While we were in KY, I sent my husband out with my father to shop for suits. I do not have any luck shopping for suites with hoppie. He's so resistant to pretty much everything I see and ends up with a suit looking pretty much like his previous suit, which I didn't like to begin with. I'll admit we haven't gone around this block too many times, because hoppie really doesn't have a need for suits, but I've been wanting him to have a new suit, not wanting to mention it, and not wanting to do the shopping.
So while we were in KY, I asked my dad to take him shopping. And while hoppie was not in the room, I told Dad to steer him away from brown. Sick of the brown. And when I said that, my mother looked at me, shocked. "What?" I asked.
And she said, in sort of wondering voice, "Me too. I hadn't thought about it, but now that you've said it, I'm sick of it too." She turned to my dad, "No brown. Maybe blue?"
"I'll get him a black pinstripe." said Dad.
Well, he did get a brown suit, but it's not brown, tan, or tweed, it's this very nice grey/brown. And the black pinstripe. He has not modelled them for me, but I trust my Dad. They bought matching ties, but I may need to make sure he has matching belts. I don't remember that coming up. Still, belt shopping I can handle.
In two years, Talk like a Pirate Day falls on Rosh Hashana. Start rewriting the prayers now, people!
Arrrrrgh, let us declare the grrrrrreeatness of the day. It be awesome and frrrrightening. On it, Yer Kingship be exaulted. Yer throne, she be strong with kindness, and Yer arse, begging Yer pardon, sits on it with truth. Ye alone be doing the judging, and the proving, and the knowing, and the witness bearing. Ye be counting and calculating, begging Yer pardon again, like the Lord of all Pirates. Ye be remembering what we all be forgetting. Ye be opening Yer great ledger which be reading itself and it be all our names, signed in blood in our own hand.
Ye run up the flag, and Ye sound the charge, and we all witness. Yer own angels come a trembling and terrified before Ye. And Yer hosts be saying, "Arrrrr, She is the Day of Judgement on which a pirate be judged."
All the Landlubbers and Pirates pass before Ye like the spoils of a war. Ye are the Captain dividing his treasure and choosing the crew for his next voyage, and Ye write it all down in Yer log book.
On Talk Like a Pirate day, it be inscribed, and After Talk like a Pirate day, it be sealed; how many be going to Davy Jones's locker, and how many fight another day; how many new crew members we be taking on, and how many be getting off between now and safe port. Who be swept overboard by the cruel winds, who by walking the plank, and who by scurvy, and who by rum, and who by wenching, and who by starvation rations, and who by lashes, and who by fighting, and who by hanging. Who be rewarded, and who be abandoned on a desert isle. Who be happy, and who be pursued within an inch of his miserable life, who retire to make fat babies, and who get leg-shackled to a shrewish wench, who be poor, as a pirate's lot, and who be swimming in pieces of eight. Who will swap the decks, and who will captain the ship.
But Pirating, and Praying, and Aiding the widows and orphans save ye from harm.
(and once again, I'm going to hell. Happy TLaPD!)
Current Mood: mischievous
Current Music: The Writers Radio - September 18, 2007
I'm glad you're coming to hell with me. :D