The Prose Edda-mon-ton

My girlfriend and I were driving to the public library this evening, to pick up some books. As we moved slowly through the parking lot, a man started to walk across our path. The man looked vaguely familar, and exceedingly tall. I had a flashback to a time some years ago, when I went to watch a young draft pick of the Hartford Whalers in his first game against the Edmonton Oilers. I looked at the man again, looking for assurance that this was indeed who I thought it was. The height of a giant? Check. The body of a warrior? Check. The blonde locks of a Norse God? Check. The hat of an Olympian? Check. The skin of a Superman? Check. The gonads of the Minotaur? Check. As I turned to speak to my girlfriend, I could barely get the words out of my mouth: "That's Chris Pronger."

My girlfriend immediately uttered, "Oh my God, what do we do!?" I said that we should do nothing, that we should just let him be. She told me to call someone, then to take a picture with our phone. Alas, I had left the phone at home. My girlfriend's face was flush from orgasmic-like pleasure. We kept driving, and the Great Pronger got into his car, completely unaware of the two star-struc'k lovers in the vehicle passing by. As we entered the library, we began to regret that we didn't at least honk and give him a thumbs up. He had been carrying a box that looked like it was full of alchohol, and we began to speculate about the Great Pronger hosting a supper for the Mighty Oil in his south-side home. A dinner of mead and mutton, wine and wenches, in the Halls of Valhalla, with mighty beserkers celebrating their victory and preparing for the Ragnarok. Unfortunately, we soon realized that he in fact was carrying a box from the local Italian restaurant, and our vision was dashed. I have since convinced myself that the entire box--and it was large--was full of pasta with which the Great Pronger will replenish the Orbs of Power and revitalize Mjolnir, his vanquishing Hammer.


It should also be noted that my girlfriend's story has gone from, "I saw Chris Pronger" to "I met Chris Pronger" to "I had dinner with Chris Pronger" to "I made out with Chris Pronger" to "I had sex with Chris Pronger." Almost all of it is false--I think--but I have no doubt in my mind that if the Great Pronger had turned towards her and smiled, my woman would have pushed me out of that car faster than you can say Kenny Linseman. I would have become an unsuspecting, but probably willing, sacrifice to the Hockey Gods.