You are hereby invited to the wedding of our son, Gino Giaranno, at the Skainhabie Event Hall off Gnonophyllis Street in my new daughter-in-law's hometown of Hoslut.
That's pronounced Hoe as in 'She's a ho' and Slut as in 'She's also a slut.'
We are so thrilled to have Marie become a part of our happy family the same way we'd be thrilled to contract some sort of skin affliction. It wasn't expected, but we're certainly going to try to live with it.
Gino and Marie have known each other such a short time, but she has already added years to both his life and my face. Just planning this wedding has turned me into a chain-smoking, vodka guzzling, pastry-inhaling lunatic. By the time the happy day actually arrives, I expect to be wheeled into the church like Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs.
Oh, that reminds me. The wedding will not occur in a traditional 'church' because Marie is not Catholic, but a Wicci. Wicker. Something like that. So instead, the wedding will be held in her 'church' located in her basement where she does all her Wickford magic. If any of you have a chicken she can sacrifice, please bring it along.
My husband, Sal, fully approves of Marie, because her father works for the Red Sox and has promised him season tickets. That's right. My husband sold my son to a black magic basement prostitute with crooked teeth for baseball tickets. What did I get out of the deal? A nervous tic and five anxiety attacks, that's what I got.
Marie's mother is a lovely woman, who has not gotten off her couch in fifteen years. At this point, we're going to have to helivac her to the reception. Meeting her reminded me of the scene in Return of the Jedi where Luke is brought before Jabba the Hutt. I tried to hug her, but I couldn't figure out where her arm was, so instead, I high fived the footrest and called it a day. I knew that I wouldn't have perfect in-laws, but I never thought that one day I'd related to furniture.
I so look forward to Thanksgiving.
Finally, in lieu of gifts, we would ask you to send condoms to horny Italian boys so they don't get gold-digging whores pregnant and then have to marry them. It's a charity we really believe in.
Please RSVP, and if you're not coming--
Lucky you.
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