The road to an executive level, upper class, pedigree is fraught with danger and excitement.
I was simultaneously apprehensive and excited when I received a hand-engraved letter written on beautifully embossed stationery from a man in England, Mr. Sheridan Bucket. He said he was searching for his long lost uncle Petunia who went missing shortly after birth, many years ago, from Queen’s Hospital in London, and his investigations had led him to me. Apparently, the online version of this monthly column in QSaltLake had come to Mr. Bucket’s attention, and through his reading of the several stories and experiences, he seemed to feel a deep, familial connection to me.
He explained that his grandmother, Daffodil Bloom, Daffy for short, was the mother of five children, including Sheridan’s mother, the famous and formidable Hyacinth Bloom, who married his father, Richard Bucket, pronounced Bouquet. In addition to Hyacinth there was Violet – with a Mercedes, swimming pool and room for a pony, Daisy, Rose and a long lost baby boy named Petunia. Daffy, having never even conceived that she might give birth to a boy had only the name Petunia picked out, so gender notwithstanding, Petunia it was. Sheridan insisted that with a name like Petunia, I must be the missing blossom of the family’s blooming bush.
Sheridan related the story: The day after Daffy gave birth to the boy Petunia, Daffy and baby were in the hospital canteen attending a candlelight supper with Hippocratic Entertainments, organized by her oldest daughter, Hyacinth, for the senior executive hospital staff and special guest, Her Royal Highness, Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowden.
Shortly before the princess was to arrive, the baby Petunia made a stinky doo-doo in his diaper. Daffy began to change the baby’s diaper when Hyacinth bellowed, “Stop! I will not have you serving up a Petunia poo-poo platter in the presence of royalty.” She hastily shoved the bassinette containing baby Petunia behind a large mound of flowers. Daffy followed the baby and removed the soiled diaper anyway. As little boys without diapers covering their wee-wees are wont to do, he made a pretty, little yellow fountain which shot Daffy right between the eyes and caused her to shriek in pain. It also made her mascara run so that now she looked like a rabid raccoon. In full panic mode, Hyacinth forcefully thrust the blinded Daffy out of sight, underneath the table cloth of the buffet table, and shoved the trolley containing Petunia’s bassinette through the swinging doors into the hallway.
As Hyacinth turned to prepare to greet the Princess, she noticed that the Vicar, had mistaken the poo-filled diaper for a serving of guacamole and began to spoon some onto a cracker. Thinking quickly, she began singing God Save the Queen. The Vicar came to attention thus enabling Hyacinth to throw the “guacamole” diaper and his plate under the table as well. Meanwhile, under the table, Daffy who was very patriotic, also tried to come to attention thus upsetting the buffet table, causing the flaming Sterno under the chafing dishes to topple over and catch the table cloth on fire. Richard came to the rescue by picking up the punch bowl and dousing the flames with the contents, however Hyacinth had been trying to blow out the fire and she was drenched with bright red punch from head to toe. Alas, all was for naught because of a scheduling conflict, Her Royal Highness never came.
When the confusion subsided, the baby Petunia was missing. The constables in Scotland Yard suspected that Mormon missionaries visiting the hospital absconded with the child, figuring that is was much easier to raise a Mormon than to convert one, especially since Daffy had earlier refused baptism because of the deleterious effect it would have on her hair.
Subsequently to prove his sincerity and legitimacy, Sheridan and his partner, Tarquin, sent me a hand knitted doily of their own creation along with a photograph of Hyacinth’s table set for a candlelight supper with her precious Royal Doulton with hand painted periwinkles. At first glimpse of the photos and doily, my heart nearly leapt out from behind my twirling and flashing breasticles. I immediately felt as if I had clicked my ruby slippers and gone home. After an extensive and exhaustive search on Ancestry.com, lasting more than five minutes, the glorious new truth was confirmed. I must confess that I was absolutely dumbfounded with amazement. The internet is for more than just porn!
Exuberant with my newfound heritage, I quickly relegated my childhood life in Idaho, full of sheep shit and taters, to the dustbin of history and reveled in the knowledge that my role model Hyacinth and I are sisters. And glory be, Orlando Bloom is a distant cousin. Yay!
Suddenly, I feel the irrepressible urge to host a candlelight supper, perhaps alongside the Jordan River with Riparian Entertainments. I could serve bangers and mash with spotted dick for desert. Since I don’t own any Royal Doulton with hand painted Periwinkles, I shall serve it on my best Corelle Ware, on which I shall hand paint some periwinkles.
Like always these events leave us with several eternal questions:
1. Which flavor of punch is best for dousing fires?
2. How far removed must a cousin be before it is not considered incest?
3. Will Orlando ever return my calls and lift the restraining order?
4. How many inches long is the average spotted dick?
5. How many bangers should one include in a serving of bangers and mash?
6. How much time do you need to recover between each banger?
7. What the hell does a periwinkle look like?
8. Will hand-painted petunias be an adequate substitute?
These and other important questions to be answered in future chapters of: The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.