This tale is a tale I have told numerous times. The reason why I am setting it down is that I am always amazed at the number of gentiles who have not heard me tell it. If you are one of those gentles, or would just like to hear it again, please read on.
I am fond of telling people that in our marriage, Isolde is the social unit while I am in charge of logistics and transportation. What this means is that I get us to the event and back, and I am in charge of loading the vehicle. Once we are there, Isolde meets and newt-works with the other gentles of the kingdom while I generally keep a low profile. This works well for the both of us but it has one disadvantage, frequently we have conversations that go like this:
Isolde will say,” By the way Sir Futz-wutzits said…”
At this point I will respond, “Who?”
“Sir Futz-wutzits. You remember we met him at the event in South Downs last month.”
“Sir Futz-wutzits. He had the cute little blonde wife.”
“Oh!” I say, “Sir Futz-wutzits!”
To which Isolde replies, “I knew you would remember the cute little blonde wife.”
Now, I still have no idea who either Sir Futz-wutzits or his cute little blonde wife are. However, I figure that if I keep doing my owl impression, Isolde will get frustrated, so I pretend that I know who she is talking about.
For several years I had been using this made up example of what it is like to be married to a woman who is friends with over half the kingdom when the following incident occurred.
We were attending an event in the Shire of Blackmoor Keep. The feast had just ended when Isolde turned to me and pointed out a lady wearing a coronet sitting at a nearby table, ”I know that lady,” Isolde said, ”but I can not put a name to her.”
“Well, there is one sure way to find out,” I replied.
“Your right,” Isolde said, and then she got up, walked over to the other table, and engaged the woman in conversation.
After a few minutes Isolde returned to our table. “Its Viscountess Catherine,” she declared in a way that suggested that I would recognize the name.
“Viscountess Catherine,” I parroted and proceeded to look at the lady a bit more closely.
“Well,” I thought, “she’s cute, she’s blonde, and she’s petite. Obviously she is Sir Futz-wutzits wife!”