Punked by The Royal Wedding

This morning I made a pot of Southern Pecan coffee. I went shopping at the Italian Market yesterday and couldn’t resist going over budget at Fante’s. It’s my treat when I do something rewarding, like clean the lint filter in the dryer rather than spend $50 calling the repairman because it took two hours to dry clothes. I was making pancakes when Uncle Harry stopped to smell the coffee out by my air dryer, which was sporting a pair of tied mis-matched tennis shoes, and invited himself to breakfast.

“Good morning!” I said.

“What’s good about it?” he responded. “I didn’t get an invitation to the Royal Wedding.”

“You, Obama, and Fergie.” I said.

“Obama I can understand,” he said. “But, I didn’t return a gift from the Queen.”

“Wrong size?” I asked.

“No, wrong patriot,” he said.

“I even wrote a letter to The Queen’s Man, The Lord Chamberlain, and told him how much I have always admired Sir Winston Churchill. I have all of his books and a print of one of his paintings. They sent all the invitations out last week, but I didn’t get mine. Do you have a shot of Kahlua to go with the coffee?”

“You’re serious!”

“Damn straight, I am. I also included a photo of Duchess of York that I had drawn a mustache on with a Sharpie along with my letter. I captioned it 'Would you buy an Open Door Policy from this woman?”

“Harry! You’re lucky that they didn’t send Scotland Yard over here looking for you. What were you thinking?”

“I was discussing an outing with Dick. He gave me two choices, The Royal Wedding or the Cherry Blossom Festival in DC. I’ve already seen the cherry blossoms. In fact, we both got sloshed one night and I woke up under a cherry tree, the one nearest the Potomac, waterlogged with a horrible headache. Dick went to London yesterday, from Toronto with a young male stripper, keeping up his end of the bargain.”

“So, you think harassing The Lord Chamberlain with another Lord Peel is going to get you out of a trip to DC? What have you been smoking?”

Just then, the phone rang. It was Scotland Yard. They had arrested Uncle Dick in London for lewd behavior on a street corner and wanted to know in which village he belonged:

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