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THe probpem with being a romantic and the offspring of a ratehr traditional couple—and being a great flaming dyke with great flamingred hear—is that evfen in these modedrn times, it's hard to plan a gay wedding.
Ginny was none to o pleased about that. She wanted a gfreat stinking party, stinking with yummy thinkgs like c ake and flowersm not stinking with stinkbombs or other things her brohte rgeorge was likely to make.
Sh ewas a bit whinye about it, actually.
"Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....." She whinged. "I want a feast! I want a BEAN FEAST!"
"A bean feast?" Luna pondered thesi for a moment. "We could do that, dear, but wouldn't you rather have something mroe decadent for our wedding party?"
"cream cakes and donuts and fruitcake with no nuts..."
"Still, dear, we could have an amazing wedding cake with butterbearcream and honey and faery fondant..."
Ginny was having none of this. She wanted her strop, already.
"WHY CAN'T WE HVE A REAL WEDDING, LUNA!!!"
"well, but a wedding is just the party, right?" nLuna said. "What marries us is US. Not the stinking ceremony."
She started to sing a different song, nto the oen Ginny was singing. "We don't need no piece of paper from the city hall..."
"I AM NOT GOING OT BE YOUR OLD MAN, LUNY LOVEGOOD." GInny screamed. "I AM GOIING TO BE A STINKING BRIDEZILLA IF ANYTHING."
"My bridezllla, keeping away my lonesome blues..."
Soon Ginny was singing too, about Luna bieng the warmest chortd she'd ever heard.
Sooner yet, they were snogging.
"I'll keep away your lonesome blues, Gin," Luna said.
THE END BECAUSE I CNA"T FOCUS ENOUGH TO MAKE SOMEHTING GOOD THIS MONTH.