I’ve often heard that men get married “when they are ready,” and not a moment before, no matter how right the girl is.
More than a decade ago, I stood in Tommy’s kitchen and said, “Wow. These [1970s green stoneware] plates are ugly. You need to get some dishes.”
Tommy: “When I get married, she’ll have dishes.”
Me: “Umm..you aren’t even dating anyone right now. ”
Tommy: “Well, when I do, she’ll have dishes.”
I knew then that he would marry the next girl he dated. And he did. He met his wife in Oklahoma City in the middle of helping a friend move across the country and then dated her long distance until their marriage. They have been happily married now for more than ten years.
Tommy and I have been friends since college – twenty years now – and he was always like a big brother to me, and still is. I can rely on him for a listening ear, kind advice, and the truth about any subject that comes up. He was my reliable wedding date and movie companion.
It was he whom I consulted when I was thinking about marrying Ismael and he asked the right question, “If you had to make a decision in this instant, what would it be?” Without thinking, worrying, etc, my instant reply was, “I’d say yes.” And I did.
When he moved to Oklahoma, I was happy that he was able to start a new, exciting page in his life, but I missed him terribly.
So you may have heard me squeal on Thursday night around 9 PM when I returned his call and he said, “Well, I’m off work, in the car, and headed east toward Indiana.” WHAT? OMGTHAT’SGREATI’MSOEXCITEDTHANKGODYOU’RECOMINGHOME.
Turns out, Tommy’s old just like me and he is had his twentieth high school reunion this past weekend.
Hooray for being old.
So I’ve been on a slight bloggy break to lead a more interesting life than I normally do.
The stars lined up just right, and on Friday night, I not only had an overnight babysitter already lined up, but Lorie was also in town. We all met for dinner and Tommy told us ribald stories that made people stare and the rest of us laugh until the tears flowed.
It was such a good weekend! For me. For Ismael? Not so much. He ate a gas station burrito on Friday morning that we were certain was going to be the cause of his death. He waited around all weekend, slightly nauseous, waiting to get really sick and die. He took a picture of said burrito for the health department, but I’ll spare you the sight of it.
I’m extremely happy to report that he did not die or even vomit as far as I know.
And that I’m fairly certain he will now stay away from gas station food.
Tommy and Lorie have returned to their respective homes, and unless I win a lottery large enough to bribe them into moving back permanently, I will return to my regularly scheduled life.
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