You may know a person for a number of years and not know everything about them. This be not news to most but here I was thinking I knew all there was to know about the Weasil. He invades me life with every opportunity he can get and like most pests, he is hard to get rid of. In me quest to understand him, I have taken to observing some of his outlandish ways.
I know he's strange all on his own, that I shouldn't have to point out an exact example of his acting or being strange, but this, THIS I just have to. The whole episode was a total surprise to me that someone so . . . so . . . crazy could have a side to him where he appreciates things most of us do, but then that appreciation goes askew.
At the time of this particular episode that I want to share with you, I didn't take much notice of the fact the Weasil is a bit of a gardener . . . that he is. I guess because one of me non interests is gardening as you well know. I be forced into gardening by me wife, not because it is a favourite hobby of mine, or that I like flowers and vegetable growing, it is because it is a favourite hobby of hers that she thinks should be mine too. However, there is the Weasil who seems to relish getting into potting soil or any kind of manure that will grow flowers tall and beauteous. Beauteous being a favourite Weasil garden word just to pass that on to your diminutive self.
Anyway, when I was in Scotland, before the Weasil wedding (of which you will remember the young whippersnapper was conveniently missing for the pre-nuptial festivities), I was shown by an infatuated wife to be, one Amanda AKA Manda da Panda (yes, Weasil's cutesy moniker for "his woman") a rather lovely rose garden. There were bushes of colours all exuberant and in full glory and oh the fragrance that wafted along the castle wall! I tell ya. Miss Manda pointed out her betrothed had planted the sixty bushes and tended them himself!
Well, this was news. When did Weasil, world traveller, pesterer of Gabe, thorn in everyone's side, and leader of the crazy rebellion have time to tend rosebushes I wanna know? Well, he did Miss Manda said with an adorable sigh. AND he wanted a grand total of 80 rosebushes. Why not a hundred? I had the nerve to ask, and the answer was because that would "be very gauche Gabe."
So you want to know where I am going with this right? I'll tell ya right now. The Weasil finally was located and dragged in to celebrate his nuptials and to make his reluctance to celebrate all the parties thrown in his and Amanda's honour, he had a bad habit of escaping the said festivities. I often wondered where he disappeared to and I searched the dungeon being quite a bit certain that's where he'd go, but no I could not find him in five party tries UNTIL the sixth castle party when he pulled his Houdini and I, needing some air from all the Scotch fumes had gone to the rose garden to take in the wafting perfume of Weasil's 60 rosebushes.
I was damn surprised to walk up on the kilted wonder struggling with pulling out a yellow rosebush. I mean he was wrestling the thing out by the roots and it was rooted in there, but he didn't seem to mind the thorns ripping at clothing and skin as he finally uprooted it. I stood there in amazement as he put the thing in his arms and then proceeded with it to the parking area where he threw it in a white Mercedes convertible (top down). Must I tell you the seats were white too? Yes, the entire auto was white and I was aghast at this . . . this display of disregard for the colour white!
When I asked him what it was about, as I gestured at the dirt strewn all over the pristine upholstery, he told me Mrs. Angus Ferguson had each morning been admiring his rose bushes. The yellows were a rare and late blooming bunch and every morning she'd go see if the brilliant yellow buds were unfurling until that morning when they did and Mrs. Angus Ferguson took her nail clippers and clipped herself the most magnificent of the bunch a single bright yellow rose with a pink inside.
Now Weasil did not know this until an hour later he went to check his beauteous bushes and noticed one big bloom missing! He went berserk right then and there, and he knew, yes he knew who clipped his fabulous rose. For the rest of the day the Weasil was grumpy and inwardly seething. Yes, he was. When the party started and Mr. W was well in his cups, his eyes became slits in his head as Mrs. Angus Ferguson passed him by wearing the giant yellow and (I must add) glorious bloom as a boutonniere. He lost it I say, HE LOST IT, but not a word passed his lips, no it was all action, go to the rose garden, pull out that bush with his bare hands and then by golly, trash it in Mrs. Angus Ferguson's prized white Mercedes convertible with the pristine white seats. Yes, that's the ticket and that's exactly what he did.
He said to me, "If she likes that bush so much she can have it!"
He muttered about clipping other people's prize possessions and such but he had his revenge fully when about an hour later (with Mrs. Angus Ferguson still partying) the heavens opened up and yes, the dirt from the roots and the debris of the blooms all burst and the Mercedes was a sight.
Her reaction was priceless when she ran out with a servant holding a brolly over her head, his kilted self telling her he'd be glad to put the top up for her and such and there was Weasil and I standing in an indentation in the castle wall by the parking area, well out of sight watching. The Weasil's reaction to her reaction was a very dirty HA HA, and inside he stepped as Mrs. Angus Ferguson stood crying in the rain.
Did she know what had happened? No, she never did wise up to why that particular, let alone any rosebush, should be dirtying up her motor, but she suspected it was payback. She just didn't know for what until recently when she was visiting the castle again. She noticed the hole in the ground where the brilliant yellow rosebush used to be and she noticed the garden had reached an astounding 79 rosebushes.
She approached the Weasil and asked him why he did not replace the one some practical joker had dug up and stuck in her immaculate white Mercedes. Weasil stretched his aching back from his toils in the roses and said, "Love thou the rose, yet leave it on its stem. Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton." And he looked straight at her when he said it, his eyes glistened in knowledge. Mrs. Angus Ferguson's mouth opened in a wide O as he gathered his hat and jacket and left her standing there watching him saunter off to the castle. Yes indeed.
BUT WAIT, this gets better! The Weasil thought he had his revenge, but Mrs. Angus Ferguson was standing there mouthing the name Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton. I heard she went into the castle asking who that man was, and why did he not like her. She reminds me a lot of Dragon. Just not completely all there. Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton indeed.
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