Upon encountering a street corner preacher, Izzy asked him the year. He responded in some odd, eastern-european language that she couldn't understand. Assuring Izzy that I had a perfect grip on the tongue, I proceeded to translate the conversation for her.

"He says that the year is 2001, Izzy. And he wants to know if this is my real hair."

"Absolutely," I responded to the preacher.

The preacher then turned to Izzy and rattled off some odd noises.

"What did he say?" she inquired.

I translated, "He wants to know if you bathe on a regular basis."

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed.

The preacher laughed, then continued in perfect English, "So, by the power of the Lord, I now pronounce you man and wife."

Izzy's jaw dropped as I bit my lip and muttered, "Oh, dear."