At royal wedding, hats top it all

Published 12:00 am Sunday, May 1, 2011

By A.J. Moore

You got to forgive this old Southern boy for scratching a few places here unmentionable.
See, I ain’t got “Vibrant” or “Time Wagner” or pay-till-you-die Dish. Just got me some rabbit ears, and they me enough reception to enjoy some good TV. Most nights I watch “Sanford and Son,” “Newhart,” “MASH,” “The Honeymooners,” “Twilight Zone,” “Perry Mason” and lots of other stuff worth watching. And, of course, PBS and the local affiliate channels.
By some quirk of fate, Friday morning I tuned in to some danged wedding that was on everywhere I turned.
Now, weddings are what they are, but this one seemed to have everybody all riled up. Mind you, I’ve been around the world twice and to two Polish weddings and even to Vietnam and came through pretty unscathed.
But I never seen nothing to rival what was a-goin’ on, TV-wise. Looked like a remake of the worst B-movie ever made.
To start with, it had these women with hats like you see at the circus. One had on a black frisby with a bow on it, ’nother one had what looked like a bowl Gramma used for hair cuttin’, and a few more that were clearly bought from that there Salvation Army Store. And I’m thinking I’ll watch this mess, since there don’t seem to be nothing else I can tune in.
Wouldn’t you know it? Out comes this gal with a hat that looked like a danged creation by one of those dudes who shows up at Farmers Day and twists balloons into funny shapes. And, brother, this was a danged funny one, too. I couldn’t quite tell what it was on her head, but I think my uncle Charlie shot one once, and neither my Gramma nor any of his sisters (including my mom) would cook it for him.
So the thing dragged on with pompous and circumstances I sure didn’t understand until the final deed was done. And, lord, that poor boy gettin’ hitched might have been the funniest of all. When he walked on up there to the final resting place — sorry, meant altar — all he needed was a raccoon hat and he’d have fit right in with Ralph Kramden and Ed Norton down there at the Raccoon Lodge.
At that point, I figured I’d had enough excitement for the morning, so I turned off the TV and went to clean the cat litter box.
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A.J. Moore lives in Salisbury.

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