Eucharistia

Eucharistia (eu-cha-ris’-ti-a): Giving thanks for a benefit received, sometimes adding one’s inability to repay.

Hi! My name is Bert and I’m a Helen-aholic!

This is my fifth wedding, and it never gets old. I’ve had my ups and downs marriage-wise. Well, come to think of it, they were all downs—especially number four—and I have the scar on my leg to prove it. BLAM! Right in the leg. If she had been a better shot, I wouldn’t be here today and I wouldn’t be married my lovely Helen. I’ll never be able to repay her for all’s done for me, from the money, to the cars, to the intimate details that will go unmentioned.

You all know we met two weeks ago on a cruise ship, on a trip to Cancun. We met at the bar, had six or seven drinks together and I proposed to her. She told me I was moving too fast and she left the bar. Ten minutes later Helen returned to the bar and accepted my proposal. I was elated. It was just what I had hoped for when I booked the trip.

I remember very little of our time in Mexico—mainly tacos and tequila. When we got back to the States, Helen’s limo was waiting for us and we took off for her parents’ summer place in the Catskills. It was about the size of my local WalMart. Helen introduced me to her parents. Her mother hugged me too long and her father jokingly punched me in the stomach and called me a “fortune-hunting prick.” I laughed and punched him back. He took me down in the basement and opened a huge walk-in vault filled with $100 bills. He put on a speedo bathing suit and handed me one told me to put it on. Then, he dove into the vault and started rolling around. He yelled “Look at me I’m rolling in dough smart-ass! Get in here!” I jumped in and we rolled around together for awhile. It felt pretty good.

Helen and I took the family jet back to JFK where the limo picked us up and took us to Helen’s condo in Manhattan. 4,000 square feet. It was so nice I almost cried.

So anyway, thanks for marrying me honey, like I’ve said, I can never repay you—literally. Ha ha! You took a chubby fortune hunter from New Jersey and made him into a king. When do I get my crown? Ha ha!

POSTSCRIPT

Bert and Helen have been married for three years—a record for Bert. They stay drunk most of the time and have no children.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

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