An Irish Engagement

I don't know about you, but my St. Patrick's Day weekend got off to a rousing start tonight. The other day, my old friend Rory McGoogle calls me up out of the green. Always worth a few stories, I hadn't talked to Rory in over a year. "I need your help," he pleads. "What can I do," I say. Well, it's a good news bad news thing, he explains. He's finally found the girl he wants to marry. I congratulate him heartily. "But there's a catch," he starts to explain. "She hasn't met my mother yet. And even worse, when you think about it, my mother hasn't met her yet." Bad news indeed. Mrs. McGoogle, seemingly a generation or two removed from being right off the boat, is as right off the boat as can be. A meddler, a stickler, a heart of gold, and a tongue of sheer hellfire. She knows every saint, and can even rank them as far as their deservability for sainthood goes. A real pill, as my own Grandmother Sullivan would have said. "That is a problem," I say. "But how can I help?"

"Well," Rory continued, "I decided to bring my beloved betrothed to my mother's for some cocktails this Friday, but I'm also inviting about six of her friends--my fiancee's friends. I'm not going to tell my mother which one I'm going to marry. Because, as you well know, if I brought just her and said, 'Mom, this is the girl I'm going to marry,' well, you know what would happen. World War Three in my mother's living room." I couldn't help it. "And a good start on Four, too." "Of course," Rory replied. "So this way, she's got to be nice, right? She's got to be the lovely hostess she actually can be for all the others, but not knowing which one will become her sworn enemy, she'll be nice to them all. After an hour or two, I'll pull mom aside and let her guess. It's the only thing I can think of." Say what you will about his public record, but Rory's got a lot of wisdom. "Sounds like the best plan available," I said. "And naturally, you want me to help calm your mother down when she finally learns which one you're marrying." Rory laughed. "I knew I could count on you. You're always the angel in her eyes, and I'm the devil. She's still going to go nuts, but with you there everybody will be spared a good portion of her."

So I arrive tonight at Mrs. McGoogle's, who greets me at the door with hugs and kisses and the usual questions about when I'm going to join the priesthood. I catch Rory's eyes; he just winks and hoists a pint in tribute to my peacekeeping prowess. Then the parade of women. Rosie, Mary, Megan, Molly, Betsy, Annie. All nice, beautiful, would-be perfect matches for Rory. I've decided to play along too, to see if I can tell which one will be the new, gentler Mrs. McGoogle. The evening goes well. Mrs. McGoogle is as charming as ever, Rory seems relaxed, and all the would-be fiancees terrific. But the Guinness flows, and I start to get nervous knowing the conviviality has an expiration date, and that pretty soon I'm on serious duty. The upshot being I have no idea which one of the nice women is Rory's love. Pretty amazing, I must say, for Rory to be so subtle. But I know inside he's even more nervous than I. Finally he comes up to me and whispers, "Let's get this over with. I'm dying. Go into the kitchen and pretend like you're looking for beer in the fridge. I'll get mom in there and pop the question, and we'll see what happens. Needless, to say, be gentle, but don't shy away from using force, if necessary."

So I'm in the kitchen, rooting around Mrs. McGoogle's drawers, when Rory comes in carrying a tray of something, followed by his mother. I stand up and smile at them, trying to take a snapshot of the calm before the storm. "Well, ma," Rory says. "Have you talked to them all enough? Do you know which one I'm going to marry?"

"Silly boy," she says and playfully slaps him on the cheek then kisses him there. "Of course, I do. I knew thirty seconds after they all arrived that you're going to marry Betsy." I think to myself, Betsy, the one with the curls. Banker, brother in the army. Nice.

"Thanks incredible, ma. How did you kno--"

"Because I hate her."