Surely, You Jest

"A pox on thee, thou fawning, flap-mouthed fop." That's what I should have said. Instead, I just stood there with my mouth agape. But let me back this story up a bit.

My husband, Paul and I brought our two daughters, Andrea, age 12 at the time, and Ashley, our 9-year-old, to a large Renaissance Festival. After the two-hour drive, we were glad to walk the considerable distance from our parking spot. We were thankful we had heeded the advice to wear comfortable shoes. Everyone chose to wear jeans except for me. My outfit was the closest to Renaissance apparel, having chosen a lace up, corseted blouse and a knee length skirt, which would have been longer on someone shorter than my six-foot frame.

After paying, we walked in and stared, slack-jawed, at the spectacle. Jugglers and sword swallowers demonstrated their skills near the entrance, much to the amazement of the visitors like us. Roaming musicians played mandolins, recorders, and violins like minstrels from the era. There were merchants selling jewelry, clothing, glassware, and souvenirs. Many people were dressed in period garb, mostly wearing simple, earth-tone, cotton clothing. There were some flamboyant exceptions, such as a group of three men wearing hats with large feathers, reminiscent of the Three Musketeers. Paul and I told the girls to stay close as we looked over the program to map out a strategy to visit all the exciting events scheduled that day.

We had 30 minutes until we wanted to see an act at one of the small open stages, akin to a Shakespeare comedy performance, so we checked out some of the merchandise. We promised the girls we’d buy them something later, but we didn’t want to get anything until we were sure of what we wanted. There so much to choose from, so we all looked for the right memento to take home.

The show was silly and slapstick, but elicited a few laughs. Afterward, our grumbling tummies informed us that it was time for lunch. Paul had been most looking forward to the legendary smoked turkey legs, so he took Andrea, and I took Ashley to find a place that would offer an alternative to “something that had a face” as she had already chosen to be vegetarian for that reason. With turkey legs, cheese cubes, and fresh fruit to enjoy, we ate together in the common area and when we were done, we went back to perusing.

I found a booth at which a young man was playing an ocarina with considerable skill. When he finished his tune with a flourish, he held up the instrument. It looked just like a chickadee made from ceramic. As a music teacher, I knew I had found my one purchase for the day. $29 later, I had one of my own.

Paul gestured in the direction of the arena and asked, “Who’s ready for the jousting?”

The girls, who were used to school manners, raised their hands. I yelled, “Me!” drawing stares from passersby.

The jousting arena was something to behold. There were bleachers on all sides, one section being shaded and reserved for “royalty,” in other words, the actors and actresses portraying monarchs. A brown picket fence bordered the perimeter to protect both the performers and the spectators. The white fence down the center of the field showed where the action was to take place. We found seating in the front row, as Paul was a stickler for punctuality.

Within 30 minutes, the bleachers were nearly full and a man in a jester costume walked out with a microphone. I had to chuckle at the modern technology in the hands of a supposed simpleton from 500 years ago. But he proved to be good at getting the crowd riled up and said something particularly spirited. Against my better judgement, I stood up and yelled, “Huzzah!” That is the Renaissance era way of saying, "Hooray." In any case, my shouting encouraged him to head in our direction. Oh no, what had I done? I hastily sat down, hoping he wasn't zeroing in on me.

The jester, still prattling on to the audience, walked directly in front of me and looked me up and down. With a spectacular bow, he announced into his microphone, “My lady.” He proceeded to attempt to jump the picket fence. His foot caught the top rung, and he landed with his face squarely between my legs. The audience roared with laughter. Embarrassed, I felt heat burning my cheeks.

The jester picked himself up and said into the microphone, “My Lady Julie, oh Lanky One, whilst thou favor this lowly jester with a kiss on the cheek?”

The audience was egging me on, yelling things such as, "Go on, kiss him." I glanced at Paul, mortified, but he was clearly trying to stifle his own laughter. He gestured with a palm toward the jester, implying, “Go for it.”

By then, I thought anything to get rid of this guy was a good idea. I whispered, “Wait, how does he know my name?”

Paul, smirking, said, “Look at your necklace.”

Sure enough, I was wearing my name on my neck.

The jester exposed his right cheek in anticipation, but as I was about to kiss it, he turned and planted a big, soggy kiss directly on my lips, complete with a “dip.” It was all I could do to hang on to keep from being dropped. I could hear the cheers of the audience ringing in my ears.

Before Paul could think about punching the man, the jester retreated forthwith. He began announcing the first of the jousters, casually acting as if kissing members of the audience was a daily occurrence. For all I knew, it was. I began to wonder if he “tripped” purposely to land on my lady parts. At least I was wearing clean underwear.

Wherever you are, I say again, "A pox on thee, thou fawning, flap-mouthed fop."

Epilogue

Years later, after being widowed, I met Ted. When he came to my house, one of the things I showed him was my chickadee ocarina. After I played a short tune, he asked, “Where’d you get that?”

I informed him, “At a Ren Fest.”

Looking very confused, he asked, “Who on earth would have a festival for wrens?”