Three chickens. Twelve goats. Six house cats. Twenty-two roly poly bugs. That’s what love and wedded bliss costs when you’re broker than a trombone filled with pennies, and there’s a dowry on the table. I’ve long since considered myself to be a hopeless romantic. As it turns out, I’m actually a helpless romantic. In the last three months or so, I’ve been offered not only one, but TWO, prearranged marriages to consider. I’m certainly broke. I’m certainly single. I figured, why not? Let’s hear what these ladies are like, and just exactly what I’d have to do to shove off into matrimony on a love boat crafted out of old-world customs.
First, there’s the Brazilian, a rather athletic and cute girl, who as I understand it is the sister of my brother’s brother in law’s new wife (the aristocrats). She’s smart. A teacher. And why I’d be qualified to be her husband is beyond me. Perhaps Brazilian currency is based around obscure Seinfeld references (big salad), in which case, I’m a very wealthy man, and Alec likes spicy chicken. Could I really go through with it?
Secondly, there’s the Costa Rican, who is the sister of a friend’s wife. She’s pretty. Successful, and again, way out of my league. But to further fan the flames of desire, the mother of this girl was in town visiting and literally showed me a picture and told me she was available to be married. While we all approached this as a joke, and all of these things are quite factious in nature, the fact remains that prearranged marriages happen all of the time.
So I continued with the delusion like I continue to believe that one day I’ll live in Paris and drive a motorcycle with a sidecar (sans helmet, avec mustache). If I were really to give my heart to a complete stranger, I’d insist on some kind of prearranged question and answer session between us. I’d feel better about going into something with a cold feet temperature that wouldn’t lead to hypothermia and amputation. If given the opportunity to ask my potential wife/mother of child/pillow fort builder/tandem bike rider 10 questions, *this is what I’d want to know.*
(Score 10 out of 10 Gigglers and I’ll marry you. But for you gals, that’d be like going to a carnival and wanting the big Pink Panther stuffed animal and ending up with only the raffle tickets that you forgot to cash in. To the questions!)
1. Please explain to me why the tracking shot through the kitchen in Goodfellas is the greatest thing ever seen on screen?
2.Which musician/band do you prefer the most: Otis Redding, Sam Cooke or The Rolling Stones?
3. The New York Giants are playing a Chicago Bears team completely made up by mini-Mike Ditka’s. What’s the final score?
4. You’re only able to use one adjective to describe yourself. What is it? Is the antonym worse than the synonym’s redeeming qualities?
5. I cried at the end of Terminator 2 when I was a kid. Does that make me a pussy and or a robot whisperer?
6. Can our wedding be exactly like the wedding at the start of Coming to America?
7. How many cracks do I get at making a boy before your trouser vindaloo is closed for business?
8. If we have all girls, can I show all of their boyfriends a gun on the their first dates?
9. Ranch dressing will never be used on pizza nor will ketchup ever be used on a hot dog. Are you okay with this?
10. I’m broke. Real broke. Can your dowry consist of me singing either No Scrubs by TLC or I Saw the Sign by Ace of Base?
These are the only questions I would need to know in order to go through with a prearranged marriage. Oh, I forgot one. Can I borrow a dollar?
image via: almightydad