Gushing entrails and slagging off

Oh dear, I have been very neglectful of writing these past few weeks. I can assure you, though, you did not miss out on too much. In the past month I have had food poisoning twice and the flu in between. Lucky me. But, I have learned from these experiences. For example:

1. Indian food should never be “experimental."
2. Never let your Scottish boyfriend try to cook for you an “authentic American dish.”

One exciting thing that happened recently, though, was Scotland’s annual holiday of Burns Night, which celebrates Scotland’s national bard, Robert Burns. The traditional Burns Night includes the procession of the haggis, where a bagpiper leads a silver-plated haggis between the dinner guests. This is followed by the recitation of Burns’ “Ode to a Haggis”, which is written in Scots dialect and is therefore completely incomprehensible. Here is my favorite stanza:

“His knife see rustic Labour dight,


An cut you up wi ready slight,


Trenching your gushing entrails bright,

Like onie ditch;


And then, O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin, rich!”

You are about to eat this food, which, I will warn you, is banned in the US because it consists of sheep’s livers, lungs, and other organs, and the bard is trying to excite you about eating it by describing the sight as “gushing entrails.” Yum.

"Warm-reekin', rich!"

Of course, I cannot say anything against the poor haggis, as I have eaten it for breakfast, lunch and dinner before. Nothing like some sheep lungs to get you energized for the day!

At the Burns Supper, I was asked in advance to write and recite a toast. Formal toasts are an official part of the evening, and I was honored to be chosen, though slightly daunted. Traditionally, the first toast is a toast to the Bard, describing his life and accomplishments. This is followed by a Toast to the Lassies, where a man lovingly teases the women. Women have the last word, though, as the toasts end with the Reply to the Toast to the Lassies. This was my bit.

Since I had never done a Burns toast before, I was unsure of the traditions, so I asked locals. The women told me, “Just make sure you slag off the men as MUCH as possible!” Often this was accompanied by a whispered, “We’re all counting on you!” Apparently some of my female friends have built up anger against the other sex. Mike, for his part, just told me to make it rhyme. I spent quite some time perfecting my rhyming toast, and with some pointers from Mike, I finally finished. When it was my turn to present to the hundred or so folks in the room, though, I realized I had put myself into a bit of a pickle. I had been told by all to tease the men ruthlessly, and I had done so quite happily (perhaps too easily…). But when Lawrence, the lad giving the toast to the lassies, was speaking, he called us women “pure angels” and “lights of the world” and on and on with deep respect and love. What was this?! I was not expecting such praise! And here I was, poem in hand, with nothing but jabs at the poor men. Whoops! Luckily, the toast ended up being a success (I gave a good disclaimer at the beginning apologizing for being a soon-to-be-married woman and therefore having a lot of material to use against the men). I will leave you all with the very toast I recited. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed performing it!

Ashlee’s Reply to the 'Toast to the Lassies':

"For all you folks who find my speech odd,

I’ll first admit that I’m from abroad.

So I won’t use words like “wee” or “blether”

Unlike Burns and his “Tam O Shanter.”

Still I can speak of our fine lads here

Even if my speech is slightly unclear.

For men are men from sea to sea,

And I’ll speak of them quite happily.

Every Laddie needs a Lass

Just as every girl needs someone to harass.

For men are nothing if not charming

(Despite their noises, which are most alarming!).

From their love of toys and cars

To their wont of brawls in bars,

Men are something to adore

Until you ask of something more.

When men are asked to do the dishes

All your words are hopes and wishes.

Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile –

All the clothes are in a pile!

The brand-new iron’s on the brink;

There’s loads of dishes in the sink;

All the socks are on the floor—

I just can’t take it anymore!

A fuse is blown in the telly,

The toilet’s getting kinda smelly.

The drain is blocked, the faucet leakey,

Men’s DIY is kind of freaky.

Here he comes with tools in hand

If only he could understand

That screwdriver up in the air

Doesn’t mean that he should dare.

The toilet’s gone, the sink is missing

I’m pretty sure the oven’s hissing.

All they do is moan and groan

While we get a professional on the phone.

But maybe we should not dismay

For men, they just get carried away

They get these ideas in their minds

But to women’s intuition they are blind.

Despite this fault they certainly excel,

For who else can eat and sleep so well?

They’re always quick to answer your call

As long as you promise dinner and all.

With strength and bravery they have no rival,

Although their displays can be quite tribal.

Like the painted face of William Wallace

The men are quick to show their boldness.

Give them a drink and they have nerve to display

A box full of chocolates and a pretty bouquet.

They’ll romance us with dance moves on Saturday night

(And let me just say, it’s not a pretty sight!)

They can flatter and court the ladies so well

And make us feel like a right Southern Belle.

And let’s just admit it, ladies, you know

We all like a little boost of ego.

So really we need the men in our lives

And not just for someone to tease and chastise.

The two of us go hand in hand

No matter where you claim your homeland.

Having met my share of men

I have only one conclusion

Without a doubt there’s no contest,

The Laddies from Scotland are always the best!

So Ladies please raise your glass to toast

These fine men we love the most."