Anyway, Cawti and I sat down with Father Farkosh and a bottle of peach brandy and figured some stuff out. We decided that we’d promise to keep loving each other and to work out our problems and all that. That’s when Father Farkosh told us that, traditionally, the vows had to rhyme. We looked at each other, and another tradition fell dead on the floor. Don’t know about the vows, but the brandy was good.
