Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Kennelly of the Beverly neighborhood in Chicago, announce the engagement of their daughter, Mary Clare, to Mr. Brent Alan Pfeiffer, son of Mr. and Mrs. Lary Pfeiffer of Naperville. The wedding ceremony will be celebrated at 5 pm on Saturday, October 1st at Holy Family Catholic Church in Chicago with the reception immediately following at the Mid America Club.

Mary Clare is a graduate of Marian Catholic High School. She received her BS in Kinesiology from the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. She is currently pursuing her Doctorate degree in Pharmacology. Brent is a graduate of Naperville North High School and also received his BS in History from the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. He is currently teaching at Warren Township High School in Gurnee, IL.

The couple will be residing in Arlington Heights.

Joseph Kennelly lamented that the Tribune’s wedding announcements weren’t as descriptive as the New York Times’. “Just the particulars,” the woman at the paper said. The Trib’ didn’t even have a social desk anymore. So his daughter’s skimpy little announcement would run along side one for a Chinese girl getting married Dewes mansion, and some girl from the suburbs that Joseph guessed was fat.

Joseph sighed, then filled out the form that they asked him to download from the Tribune Web site. But among the blanks and questions, there was no where to mention that his daughter was great-granddaughter to Martin Kennelly, the 38th mayor of Chicago.

Or that his wife, the former Mary McFadden, was Queen of the St. Patrick’s Day parade in 1970.

Or how Mary Clare was sister to Elizabeth, who died when she was seven.

Or that Mary Clare was not as pretty as Joseph had thought she would be.

Or that he caught that kid from next door jumping out her bedroom window after taking her virginity at 14.

Or how when Mary Clare brought Brent home, Joseph thought his hair looked a little faggy.

Or that Joseph’s law firm was not one of the city’s most prestigious and mostly represented the Mexicans who had moved into the neighborhood.

Or that his wife had almost left him a few years ago because she saw how he didn’t look at her anymore.

Or that Mary Clare had really wanted to get married in Vegas so she wouldn’t have to dance with her father’s asshole partner, Kevin.

“I wanted more,” thought Martin. He ran the fax through the machine, tapped his foot with its rhythm, and looked at water stain blossoming on the ceiling.