Something you should know: I’m allergic to bourbon. Or at least I think I could be.  Every time I drink it - even the tiniest thimble of the stuff - I get violently ill.

Something else you should know: on the night in question I had consumed five drinks.  Bourbon drinks. Large, pain-inducing bourbon drinks.

My grandfather passed away on April 23, 1994, the day before my 9th birthday.  

During my first year of law school, my roommate Lisa read an article on the health benefits of onions.

Megan had a great rack.  Which was one of the reasons why – without Megan’s knowledge or permission – we decided to screen print a picture of those boobs on t-shirts and parade them out in public.  Megan wasn’t pleased when she found out.

“Mom didn’t tell you?” he asked.  “She really ought to be the one telling you this.”  I held my breath, waiting for my older brother – my most trusted advisor – to share this urgent news.  It was the morning of my sixth birthday.  We were on our way into school.

Here's what my life is like as the present-day 1950s wife version of myself.

On my walk home from lunch that day it was raining, so I pulled out my umbrella, a Gustbuster Metro.  

“You’re not there to make friends,” Wes advised, citing a favorite cliche from The Bachelor and reality TV at large.  I had never attended a speed dating or other match-making type event before, and wasn’t sure about the level of interaction I should have with the other women there.  Sure, they were technically the competition, but I’m a friendly person.  In fact, I’m much more comfortable with friendly than with flirty.  Making a nice friend seemed like an attainable, albeit somewhat unproductive goal to have at the food snob speed dating event for which I’d signed up.

My first time was in college, and it began almost by accident. 

You have made me laugh since our first encounter.  You are kind.  You are attentive.  You teach me things – guiding me through new experiences, patient with my questions.  We’ve traveled the world together - Paris in the spring, Sicily in late summer, Thailand in early fall.  And if I could only see you more than three times a year – outside of my prescheduled dinners at Next Restaurant – I think we could really make this work.