The hall has been promised tomorrow for two different events. A wedding at noon and a play at six. Where will I hide that dreary stage set? It’s far too big to fit through the door.
Perhaps I can find some old bed-sheets or a velvet curtain like the one at the Moscow circus. Who out here would own such an extravagant thing? How did I let myself get talked into this tangle? How could I have forgotten?
It’s ridiculous to think that anyone will pay to see a dark-and-dreary version of the “The Comedy of Errors.” But then who would believe that someone would actually marry my simple-minded, second cousin Dieder with his weak-blue eyes and colorless curls? Yet along comes this cock-eyed woman with a nice full chest and a fiancé newly dead in the war. Good that she has the look of having known a few men before. She’ll need experience if she’s going to get poor old Dieder to understand just what it is he has to do.
That’s it! They’ll have so many other worries the family won’t notice if, instead of an altar, the bride and groom are standing up in front of the pasteboard facade of a house that was bent in the middle when those foreign musicians pushed over the set. Maybe with a coat of pink paint they won’t even recognize that their cupid is the angel that crashed during last year’s nativity show.