The Groom From Fiji

It was confirmed at last, her beau, a Fiji Indian. Came from an ancient line of cannibals. No kidding. His hair was coarse, a flattened, big-nostril nose and nigger lips, oh, pardon me, a taut physique, in khaki gold, and chewing strange, exotic herbs. He did assure them of the change that had, some time ago swept all the islands in the strait and pork had long since taken the place of human flesh. Most of it had been white. Thanksgiving came at last, it was a great success and in the afternoon some cousins had arrived on the 4: 30 plane. They wore Hawaiian shirts and dark designer shades. And full of liquor and a sweet Italian wine from Tuscany, they did retire early, but the cousins had volunteered to do the dishes. It was a gesture much appreciated. This tale is being told to you by one who was right at the scene, who watched the happenings with growing appetite so soon. I am a cousin and my hair is coarse.