The woman seemed very excited, and almost unintelligible, what with the mouth full of jello and obscure foreign movie quotes (I think she was from Switzerland). But I soon found that it was extremely beneficial to the conversation if I just filled in the blanks so to speak, with my own creative mind power. Actually I had a mad-libs book, but no one cares. The basic theme of the conversation was that she was overjoyed at the finding of a new partner in the fantastic journey we call life. They had met casually a few times before, out in the garden, but it was love at first sight. He needed only to get over his fear of commitment, and drop the other hussies he was seeing, which he did after a heaping helping of that black soul-sucking voodoo we like to call guilt. She was as happy as if he had asked her to marry him on his own initiative. 

    She went on about how he wanted me to be the DJ for the reception and something about jumping out of a cake with canned vegetables. Turns out that this guy is not a guy in the sense that he's a person, but he's a collective all-male colony of grasshoppers in a tuxedo! I thought this was a bit odd, and was probably a misinterpretation on my part, but she wouldn't shut her Swiss jello-filled mouth for two seconds so I could verify it. No need though, she mentioned it again and again, and it was clearly what I originally thought. 

    So she asked if I would come to her Ranch and write an article about their epic romance. So I sent Cap'n Salty out there, and he hasn't talked to me politely since. Evidently when he got there she was condescending to him and wouldn't verify whether blonde was the Swiss Miss girl's natural hair colour. So I guess all we have is a mental picture... much like it is in many facets of life. Nothing is verified, wires are crossed, and I go away thinking that you're marrying Jiminy Cricket's cousins. Work with me, people.