This past week, after more than two years together, my longtime companion who also happens to be the love of my life, agreed to be my wife for some unfathomable reason. I know that some of my adoring female fans may shed a tear tonight, but I couldn’t wait any longer to make Allison just as happy as I was when I saw the ring for the first time. Besides, she wasn’t going to wait forever! (Actually, she might have.)
Here we are again, our time together has come once more. Even though I make it look otherwise, it isn’t easy to find eclectic subjects to write about every two weeks. Oh sure, I can always find something run-of-the-mill to ruminate on – how bad I feel, how my disease takes things from me, the misery of the previous two weeks, and maybe even the bad decisions I’ve paid the price for. The trick is coming up with something besides those usual gripes to talk about that you, my readers, might actually care about. Usually, something happens to me in the fourteen days between columns, so I get lucky. These past two weeks have been uneventful, though, so I have to resort to telling you about the latest fiasco with my ankle replacement. I implore you to bear with me and promise that as soon as aliens land in my back yard or my head falls off, I will share it with you posthaste.
This past weekend, a relative of someone close to me finally had her long-awaited Senior High School Prom night. We envied her in her beautiful dress, and as we admired her we took a disgusting amount of pictures. As many of us did, she and her date, wearing a tuxedo with a matching tie, got onto the party bus that they had rented with their friends and drove off into what was sure to be one of the most memorable nights of their lives. I was more than a bit jealous as they departed, remembering fondly the five proms I attended in my high school and early college days.