Royals Weeding?
Jefferson City, Missouri — An aging man sat with his elderly mother waiting for her nurse to arrive.
“What’s all this I hear about the Royals weeding?”
“What, Mother?”
“Weeding. The Royals weeding. Kansas City Royals is it? Weeding the ballfield, is it? Kauffman Stadium, hmm?”
“What in God’s name are you talking about, Mother?”
“The Royals weeding… something on the news about — ”
“What time is your nurse supposed to be here? She’s late, isn’t she? She should be here by now, right?”
“What?”
“The nurse.”
“What?”
“The nurse. The NURSE!”
“Maybe they went to a nursery… I don’t know.”
“What? Who? What are you even — ”
“The Royals… to get some grass clippers or — ”
“Again with the Royals weeding the ballpark? What are you even… Oh, for Chrissake, Mother. Wedding. Wedding!”
“What?”
“Wedding!”
“What?”
“Wedding! Wedding! It’s a royal wedding. England. The Prince. The second one, the rascally little son-of-a-bitch who thought it was funny to dress up like a Nazi. He’s getting married.”
“Oh. Well, that explains it then. Yes, they’ll want to get out there and see to the weeding at once then, won’t they? They’ll need the palace garden in tip-top shape for such a grand affair, won’t they?”
“When does the nurse get here?”
“What?”
“The nurse.”
“What? What?”
