By Charles Redfern
It’s my wife’s fault. She ruined me. I’m not even sure if existence exists because of what she did.
I had donned my sarcastic armor. I would snicker about the fawning Kate-and-William fashion show, with allusions to the aristocracy’s seamy night life: they could not possibly believe the prayers they mumbled beneath their hats in the cathedral. Only one in ten of her majesty’s subjects attend church, pointing up state religion’s Achilles Heel : Spirituality fades where monarchs rule the bishops …
And back to those hats. Had they ever read 1 Peter 3:3-4? “Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.”
I would be downright snooty – and it would be fun. And then I would have been nice – in a snooty way: Let’s wish them well. Kings and queens are now figureheads and at least do no harm. I even sympathize: They seem like prisoners in their own palaces, the very opposite of Henry VIII. Have a great Niagara Falls honeymoon, your worships. Or is it the Catskills? Or the Poconos? Did you consider Orlando?
I was prepared, armed, and (this is key) snooty. The alarm blared at 6 a.m. and I blundered through the kitchen in my search for the kettle and the coffee — but then I heard the television in the living room. My blood congealed. My heart raced. Was it a burglar? A home invader? Defend your kith and kin, Redfern. Be the man of the house …
And there I found my wife, for whom morning is the terrible aftermath of humanity’s fall. It is proof-positive of original sin. It is God’s reprimand. Morning, the great enemy of civilization and the evil stepchild of the Prince of Darkness, infected creation after God evicted Adam and Eve from paradise. My wife – the quintessential non-morning person and the epitome of non-girlie fanfare – was up. And she was watching the ceremony. And enjoying it.
I lost all my creativity at that moment. My world was thrown into chaos. Is “up” actually up? Is “down” down? Does gravity really exist? If so, why? Why even ask, “why?” I cannot think. I refuse to think. Instead, I’ll merely guide everyone to Bob Allen’s article on how it’s good to separate the church from the state. I think he talks about the wedding as well. Maybe. I’m not sure of anything anymore. Press here and find out for yourself.
Meanwhile, I must ponder: If my wife could be up at 5 a.m. and actually enjoy Kate and William’s ceremony, what else can be true? Maybe I should get a plane ticket and fly to Taos, New Mexico. What will I discover there?