Oh, how the mighty [egos] are fallen
I took a break from my usual supper of bread and water to eat out with my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Suburbanite, yesterday evening. We went to a Brazilian restaurant, where the food was excellent and the mojitos were heavenly. Highly recommended.
I've known Mrs. Suburbanite since we were teenagers. I quite fancied her (and still do, although in a less hormonally-driven way). She was, in fact, the most formidable obstacle to my decision to become a brother. That obstacle was overcome when she decided to marry someone with greater lifetime earnings potential, was more handsome and didn't respond to her flirting with ramblings about wanting to live as a celibate. Go figure! It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that she would make a good wife and mother, but as a rocket scientist, he figured it out sooner than I did.
During the meal, I recalled the time she came to Kansas City, where I was attending university, and we spent the day at an amusement park. It was one of the greatest days of my life—one of those days to which you build a shrine in your mind and burn candles before. She responded by professing to have no memory of such a meeting.
This morning, I pondered what to place in the gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to reside and how to repair the ruins of my mental shrine. While I pondered that, I filled the gaping hole of my stomach with the delicious homemade rhubarb jam that she made for me. I think all is forgiven.
I've known Mrs. Suburbanite since we were teenagers. I quite fancied her (and still do, although in a less hormonally-driven way). She was, in fact, the most formidable obstacle to my decision to become a brother. That obstacle was overcome when she decided to marry someone with greater lifetime earnings potential, was more handsome and didn't respond to her flirting with ramblings about wanting to live as a celibate. Go figure! It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that she would make a good wife and mother, but as a rocket scientist, he figured it out sooner than I did.
During the meal, I recalled the time she came to Kansas City, where I was attending university, and we spent the day at an amusement park. It was one of the greatest days of my life—one of those days to which you build a shrine in your mind and burn candles before. She responded by professing to have no memory of such a meeting.
This morning, I pondered what to place in the gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to reside and how to repair the ruins of my mental shrine. While I pondered that, I filled the gaping hole of my stomach with the delicious homemade rhubarb jam that she made for me. I think all is forgiven.
posted by BroLo | 7/12/2006 04:01:00 PM
9 Comments:
If I'd gone to an amusement park in Kansas City then I'd probably pretend not to remember it either. Even if I'd been there with Clooney and Pitt.
And to think, that was one of my more romantic dates!
It's hard to be forgotten. Especially when it's important to you! I am not sure if the jam really compensates for lack of memory.
Maybe her suburban life has blotted out anything that isn't homogeneous...bland...or an SUV.
Perhaps the only way she could face life with someone other than you was to forget.
The prize for best answer goes to Moobs!
Maybe the roller coaster shook a few of her memory cells loose on the day, BroLo ...
She's more likely to blame the five children she's had since then, but yes, the roller coaster excuse is good, too.
Ouch, that hurts just reading it.
I'm sure she has a shrine to you in her heart as well, but dude, her HUSBAND was right there at the table.
We don't want him slipping a stiletto in your gizzard over pie, now do we?
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