Love Embargo'ed

Dear Mr. Goodwyn,

My boyfriend is coming to stay with my family for Christmas, but my parents won't let us sleep in the same room! Instead, they're making him share bunk beds with my little brother. I don't want to fight with them, but it seems like a silly rule. My friends are calling it the "Love Embargo" - so embarrassing! What should I do?

Signed,

Love Embargo'ed

Dear Love Embargo'ed,

Though 'tis not much employed amongst even the venerablest apothecaries, I knowest of a preparation which, if manufactured with great care and precision, canst render lusty and aswoon the most frigid and abstemious personages.

Follow ye this recipe (I be so poetical in nature I do but rhyme most accidentally):

Findeth a goodly sprig of foxglove. Taketh from it six or seven of the largest flowers.

Crush ye the flowers with a mortar and pestil until they be made a fine powder. Placeth the powder into a brass bowl.

Bedew the powder with a goodly amount of spittle, then coverest the bowl with the pelt of a grey stoat.

Waiteth for this preparation to fester, nigh on thirty hours and six. Whensoever the powder doth take on a browish hue, addeth to it a pint of water and stirreth of it most vigorously.

Now the preparation be complete.

Whilst thy kinfolk do make merry in celebration of Christmastide, watchest thou closely that which thy parents do drink. At some late point in the evening, perhaps after thou hast completed the goodly Christmastide activities which most families do enjoy--sharing of a playful dalliance 'neath the mistletoe with thy uncle or re-enacting the ass-riding of Mary and Joseph--thou shouldst take action. Emergeth ye with fresh flagons of drink for thy mother and father, but only after thou hast into them placed a smallish portion of thy foxglove tonic. They need not drinketh heartily. But one or two goodly sips shouldst be enough.

Within an hour's time, thy mother and father shall begin to behaveth queerly. Perchance they might nibbleth of ear other's ears, or thy mother might begin to pull mightily upon thy father's beard, all the while speaking in hushed tones of her own beard and how she wiseth the twain shall meet anon.

When all have retired, station thyself at the door of thy parents' bedchambers. Within a short time, though willst hear the slapping, tickling and cooing that doth accompany a goodly couple who be in the midst of most true and candid congress.

Of course, I do recognize it may be most troubling for thee to hearest thy mother and father whilst they do frolick amorously. I didst myself encounter this situation oft in my youth. I do recall feeling much frustrated in that I couldst with mine ears hear the proceedings, but as the bedchamber door be closed, see them not with mine eyes. 'Tis much like listening to the nightengale's sweet song and viewing not its beauteous appearance, or clapping thy eyes upon a sweet crumpet and eating it not. 'Tis vexing indeed, but thou most turn thy attention to the task at hand.

Now, as thy foxglove preparation indeed be powerful stuff, thou canst be assured thy parents shall not stir from their quarters for at least one day, and perhaps two. Thus, thou canst stealest away to thy bedchamber with thy lover in tow and worry not for thy privacy.

Here I should much like to maketh note of a caveat.

Take ye great care to quickly dispose of that portion of the tonic that do remain. Most especially, ensure that thy beau dost not drinketh of it. As he art already young and most lusty, he needeth it not to plow unto thee most mightily and for a goodly period. Of even more import, if he do drinketh of it and then retire to the bedchamber of thy wee brother, thou couldst have disaster upon thy hands. Thy brother shall be most injured of psyche and body. Merry, he shall not sitteth down again for some time without great distress. And thou wilt be rendered unto thy beau most unnecessary. For once a man doth tasteth of the flesh of a young boy, 'tis most impossible to persuade him to seek pleasure again from a woman. I hath seen this scenario played out many a time, and 'tis much to be avoided.