At Least They're Committed

I had a most delightful lunch with my friend Gail from my journalism days and her beau John. They were playful and giddy and they laughed often when telling me of their adventures. At one point Gail — who I’ve known for 15+ years and who had so struggled before and as her husband died — looked at me and said, “I am more happy than I have ever been in my life.” Puzzling.

Ellen and I talked about this in our Sunday call this morning, and it was perplexing because at this point some of us, well maybe most of us, believe that said “happiness” is for those who don’t think so good.

My day has consisted of chatting with Uncle Albert, who is living with us, and praying for him for his legal woes; DS feeling fatigued for no known reason; EBD criticizing me for yelling “Move it!” at the car who illegally took up two lanes to do a U-turn while I’m waiting to pull into the parking lot where he works; and trying to unwind with D (what was I thinking?) and yammering — yes, I admit, I did say one of the Harbaughs looked like an older, thinner Jonah Hill — and D throwing up his hands and saying, “Are you going to do this the whole game?” Me saying, no, heading to my room and him getting all butt hurt because evidently I should have thought that was funny.

Back to my talk with Ellen: Gail and John live together and I’m, like, ew. That wouldn’t work. Ellen says, “A duplex! That’s the best I can do!” So I say, “Nope, he’s going to be watching and spying on you when the pool-cleaning boy comes over, or maybe some hot guy you’re tutoring.” Because, lets face it, men say they want a casual, monogamous relationship but what they want is for you to be at their beck and call and to be with you all the time and they’re threatened by any other guys who so much as cast you a glance. Well, the men I’ve experienced anyway. So we determined a block away would be best. Yes, yes, at least a block away.