Dad's going to do a bagpipe march performance for Aly's bonfire wedding rehearsal dinner. Dad and Aly spoke on the telephone. I just about died over this one; anyone who knows my Daddyo and/or Aly can hear this in their head:
Dad: So how far is the pier from the pit? Like, give it to me in yards.
Aly: Well...I'm not sure about yards...I don't really think about distances in terms of yards....
D: Well then, give it to me in feet, you can do feet right?
A: Well...it's like it would take you 3 or 4 minutes to walk it.
D: So it's like a football field.
A: No! It's like half a football field!
D: Well then you just walk slow. So you want me to walk down from the pier, down the steps and over to the barbeque pit.
A: There aren't any stairs.
D: So I walk down the ramp (BTW he's never been to the beach this dinner will be at)?
A: There isn't really a ramp! It just sort of eases into the sand. And I'd like you to walk from under the pier, if you don't mind your feet or shoes getting sandy, straight over to the pit.
D: Ok.
A: And then I was thinking in your get-up (kilt) it'd be so perfect if you gave a little shpiel about the Irish traditions of weddings...you guys being Irish and all --
D: Wait wait wait SCOTTISH. PLEASE! SCOTTISH!
Classic. This is the best weekend of my life!
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