"Hey Pooh Bear Dude! Wake up, rise and shine!" Retired NFL running back Shawsey Sanders burst into Pooh's bedroom. It was a quarter after two, on a sparkling early December Thursday. Shawsey threw open the shutters and hoisted up the blinds. A flood of sunlight that had been dancing over the glistening, white, blanket of snow, streamed in.
"Oh bother," Pooh muttered. He rolled onto his stomach and shoved his head deep under the pillow. "I have no need to get up right now. Leave me alone."
"Well it would be nice if you ever did find a job, so you had a reason to get up besides stuffing your face," Shawsey snorted. "But today you have a special visitor. He's waiting in the parlor. Make haste! Brush your hair. Give yourself a quick sponge bath. It's an important guest and he mustn't be kept waiting."
This all was not registering with Pooh. Pooh had friends stop by Mr. Sanders's town home all the time wanting to play a delightful game of Pooh Sticks or get burgers at Ruby Tuesday, but Shawsey let none of them wait in the parlor. The parlor was reserved for Barry's business guests, ex football stars, and the plethora of gorgeous ladies Barry often invited over.
"A guest for me? In the parlor?" Pooh yawned as he stuffed his paw deep into his boxer shorts to adjust his morning wood. Shawsey had begun to pull out a clean, red, shirt for Pooh to wear.
"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly. "Tis a very important guest. Now get your fat calorie laden ass out of bed! I wouldn't be surprised if Bill Parcells himself turned up at the door next."
"Who that?" Pooh asked as he rolled onto his back.
"Just get a move on!" Shawsey crowed and swatted Pooh with a pillow.
In as much haste as an overweight bear of minute brain can manage, Pooh rolled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. He was outrageously hung over. Pooh wasn't one to go drinking much. For someone like Tigger, a hangover wasn't a hangover, it was just morning. But for Pooh, a hangover was an immense tragedy that killed a day, and left him puking until all he had left to puke was a bubbly, acidic, bile- mucus, and a splitting headache. He heaved into the toilet. Pooh hadn't meant to get trashed last night, Piglet was obsessed with the TV show Lost. Every Wednesday night she would have her closest friends over to watch the show and enjoy good drink, merriment, and canapés. Last night was no exception except for Tigger bringing over the ingredients to make honey cake shots. Pooh isn't one to resist honey anyway, so when he saw Tigger bring an array of shot glasses all looking like jewels, it was hard to say no. The shot was also fun to drink as well. It was a great ordeal. Tigger took lemons and doused them in sugar, Pooh was to suck the sugar off the lemon and then drink a wonderful concoction of butterscotch schnapps. Bailey's Irish cream, nutmeg, and Godiva white chocolate liquor. It tasted just like a warm, freshly baked, honey cake, and Pooh had enjoyed the concoction immensely. Now he was paying the price. He gazed with glassy eyes at the bloodshot bear that stared back at him in the mirror. Today of all days he had to have an important visitor! But who could it be?
Pooh slowly made his way to the parlor. He was taken aback by what he saw.
"Jiminy!" He exclaimed. There standing in the parlor were three men. One had a long page-boy haircut, with a light blue beret perched upon his head. He wore pristine white tights. He was holding a rolled official looking document in one hand, and the glass of spiced cranberry sherry that Shawsey had served in the other. The other two men adorned fine white powdered wigs with all kinds of curls. Their tights were just as pristine and their waistcoats had fine golden buttons and fine braided trim. One held a machine gun, the other, a trumpet. He trumpeted a fanfare as Pooh stepped into the room.
"Greetings from Felix von Maurer," the man with the pageboy hair announced. "President of Maurer Motor Company, owner of the Hundred Acre Wood Wolves pro sports team, and Detroit's favorite philanthropist. Am I currently addressing Winfred Pooh the III?"
"That's me," Pooh replied. On top of the commode there sat a crystal jar filled with cashews. Pooh helped himself to a hearty handful, hoping it would settle his nerves.
"This is for you. It is from Mr. Felix von Maurer himself." The man handed Pooh the document. All three gentlemen bowed to Pooh whose mouth was filled with cashews. Pooh wasn't sure what to do, so he raised his paw as if to give a blessing like in church. The trumpeter played another fanfare, and then the men trooped out to the ornate carriage that was drawn with a team of six snow white horses. Pooh watched from the window as the carriage pulled away.
"So what did they want?" Shawsey asked. "What did Felix von Maurer's counsel want?"
"They gave me this," Pooh replied. "Can you fry me up some hash browns?" Pooh gave the document to Shawsey. He was more concerned with his upset tummy.
The document was on pristine lily white paper with gold edges, and tied with a deep Hawaiian blue silken ribbon. Shawsey removed the ribbon and began to read it.
"Oh Pooh," he breathed. "This is so very exciting! Listen here."
Felix von Maurer the II and his family request the presence of Winfred Pooh III at a grand ball to be thrown at the von Maurer Mansion December 23 at 9 o'clock in the Taurus Ballroom. R.S.V.P. black tie required.