It’s bridge week here in Gutenberg Land.

And that means:

On Thursday last week,

all the male Gutenbergers-

(male only, because Thursday,

Ascension day,

is also father’s day here,)

went to high smoky mass with the wife and kids’

no disrespect meant, but when it comes to incense,

we Gutenbergers don’t mess around.

Especially when large amounts of the blend,

made specially for the grand cathedral,

started in the first couple of centuries,

are seen as the best possible preamble to the rest of the day-

grill heaven,

characterized by:

gathering up all the members of the local clubs-

Gutenberger have an average of 5 memberships each-

singers start with membership in at least five choirs,

then add the chicken raisers, computer clubs, at least two sport clubs,

stamps, star wars-

(there’s a choir over here called the next generation, if you can believe it)

historical putting on of armor and marching around like a gladiator club,

or a goat’s beard hat and short leather pants to play Bavarian club.

Either way, on father’s day, all pandorum breaks loose.

As in

after church, as I wrote, you gather the hoards.

And get into busses.

With a half a large pig per bus-

the head will be grilled separately and served with hat and sunglasses.

Then you add in a few members of the accordian club in each bus,

a few huge pots for high alcoholic “punch”

and set off.

Singing.

Spend the night grilling,

and growling,

and offering up ancient Teutonic-

aka Klingon, Viking, or, if mathematicians are along,

mathematical

libations to the powers that be:

Oh Gauss, bless these theorems,

as we deliver them orally,

because we are too potted to write them down.

Then you put on the pig’s hat,

and slide down the hill in the empty pots,

singing the Gutenberg’s equivalent of

one blue fly flew up the flew the other blue fly flew down.

And then you get back in the bus,

and head back home.

Head being the integral word here,

since every window has two singing male heads hanging out of it,

and the carcass of the pig is displayed below them,

roped to the outside.

And how do I,

a mere mortal woman,

know of these wonders of the  male universe?

Well, firstly, I am married to a very male singer-mathematician.

And secondly, I once conducted a male glee club,

whose members refused to hire me until after father’s day,

after having regaled me with these tales,

and having me only remark “oh, how interesting.”

Did I mention, I took a few courses in German ethnology?

Ps. It’s called “bridge week” because, by taking a strategic Friday,

and a couple of midweek days off,

you can bridge the gap to Pentecost,

where you:

go to high mass,

then collect a few busses,

and a half a pig….

copyright Dunnasead.com 2017

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