The concluding part of Chapter 9

There was another round of praying for God's blessing on us before Father Buckingham finally pronounced us man and wife. "You may kiss the bride, Fighting Dragon," he concluded with a smile.

To celebrate this momentous occasion, the newly-minted Mrs. Akecheta Lung and I went to a classy restaurant where I picked a nice, cozy corner for optimum privacy and ordered the best champagne - money was no object. She did not drink, but for today, she was game for a glass or two.

"And what would your parents say to our marriage?" I asked, toasting her. "I bet they will be happy and proud."

"Nope, I bet they will burn you at the stake," she replied, sipping her champagne.

Was she taking another stab at humor? Was I supposed to laugh? Her somber visage told me otherwise. "Come on, you don't really mean that," I said, trying to downplay the threat with a moronic grin. "Okay, they might freak out if they had attended our wedding, but at the end of the day, you are being married off. And to a very fine man too, if I may immodestly add. That's what parents always wish for their daughters, isn't it?"

"Where were you when Chinese history was taught in class?" she queried me, sounding more like my teacher than my wife. "My folks, like most people in China, hated the Westerners including half-breeds like you for invading our fatherland." She paused - her eyes looked kind of misty. "Oh, why do you have to mention them? I'm no longer their daughter, you know. In our feudal society, parents favor their sons. My folks are no exception. They dote on my elder brother, but they do not value me."

Oh boy, I think I touched a raw nerve when I mentioned her parents. I wish I had kept my big mouth shut. There was a short silence. During that brief period, my head was churning furiously to think of something to redeem myself in her eyes. "Well, if you ask me, I prefer daughters," I finally blurt out. "I love girls; they are like roses, filling the world with beauty. In fact, I love them so much that we're gonna have dozens!"

"Why, that's very sweet of you," replied Suet-foong. She began to smile once more - thank goodness, my little white lie worked. "I didn't know you love daughters ... hey, wait-a-minute! Have dozens? Who do you think I am? A sow?" She gave me a face.

Oh, dear Lard ... I mean, Lord, I bungled again. Hastily, I replied with a faked frown: "Did I say 'have dozens'? No, no, you heard wrong. I said 'we'll make them decent' ... it must be the champagne, it's making you tipsy."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"But I only have one glass."

"Err ... that's more than enough. Did I tell you about the time when I took one glass and I got drunker than a fiddler? The only difference between you now and me then was that I couldn't recall whether it was the eighteenth or the nineteenth."

My punchline must have been funny because she laughed like a loon, nearly choking on her drink. The next thing I knew she gave me a hug, saying in a whisper: "You're one cute, adorable dumdum."

Trust me - a man who tells little white lies and makes wisecracks to his wife can get away with anything.