A story (with a moral)

On April 24th, 1993  I was on a train to Toledo to attend my beloved Aunt Dolores’ funeral.   My sisters and I had taken the train to Ohio, 24 hours in a cramped, smoky Amtrak car most of which I spent thinking about the guy I met the night before.

A few months before, I had been lamenting to Karen about the lack of available men.   She claimed to have met the perfect guy for me but he had a girlfriend.  I explained to Karen that the presence of a girlfriend made him less than perfect.

The night before my aunt died, Karen called to ask if I wanted to go to Old Chicago’s.  I said I was tired.  She said the perfect guy was coming and he no longer had a girlfriend.  So we went to Old Chicago’s.

I remember that night like it was yesterday. I remember the mullet and the snake-skin boots and how he told me I was too smart to work at the DMV.  He drove me home and asked for my number so we could go out the following night.

The next day was spent planning to get everyone to Ohio.  When he finally called, I had to cancel our date because my aunt died.  He thought I was trying to blow him off.

I told my sisters about him on our train trip. Karen and Meg convinced him that my aunt had actually died and invited him to a party the next weekend.   When I got home, we went to the party together and have been together ever since.

20 years later, the mullet is gone but the boots are still pulled out for rock shows.  After two kids and all the craziness that life has thrown at us there is no one who I would rather be with on this roller coast ride.

Moral of the story: Karen is always right!