I have a long history of not getting the girl. I realized this, when I was looking at birthday cards for my wife. I landed on a "Sixteen Candles" audio card with a picture of the dude that played Jake, (google it, I'm tired) and Molly Ringwald, in the final scene. I was thinking of how many Molly's I have lost to Jake's. "I know This Much Is True" mocked me as the card opened.
Third grade; Tammy Tippens left me for Bobby Larrito because he had long hair.
Sixth grade; Tammy Reacer left me, for my best friend Andy, because he looked more like Peter Frampton, than I did. Thus ended my run of Tammy's
Tenth grade; Julie Johnson left me for Rich Vincik, because he got his license before me.
Eleventh grade; Rhonda Noyse left me for James Bell, because he had a Mustang.
When I met my wife, she was a waitress at the Flamingo Cafe'. She took one look at my leather coat, (with shoulder pads) the boots, bolo tie, and puffy shirt, and she asked me if I was a drug dealer. When I asked why she would think that, she told me that all musicians were broke, and since I had a new car and clothes, I must be subsidizing my income. I was working days, playing five nights a week, and I was really offended by these assumptions. I had to have her.
She was dating a guy named Dane (I know) he was nearly six feet tall and he looked like a model. Everything I lack in the looks department, he had spilling out of the bucket. They had been dating five years, and they lived together. I had no chance.
The thing I didn't know, was that he was a chump. He gambled, drank too much and had a roving eye (and other body parts). He committed the ultimate sin against women, he neglected her. Slowly, (eight months, but who's counting) I made in roads. I would rub her neck while she rolled silverware. I would give her a longing glance while singing U2 songs. We would accidentally meet at Finale's after work, and hold hands under the table. It wasn't long (eight months, but whose counting) before Dane (I know) was filling out a change of address form.
Michelle and I have been together for nineteen years. During that time, I have watched her grow from a shy wall flower, into an assertive business woman. She is the living embodiment of kindness and patients. She will spend money on gifts for friends and family, but I have to force her to buy clothes for herself. She lives with me, which guarantees her a good after life. How could you not love a girl, whose name is a Beatles song?
This Sunday is her birthday. Last year, she slept in a chair at the hospital, while I drooled in a neck brace. The year before that, she was away on business. This year, it is all about her. I am going to make sure she knows it's her day. She will never know what she means to me. I am always looking over my shoulder for some Dane (I know) to steal her away. You see kids, sometimes the funny little guy in the story, does get the girl.
W.B.Z.N.
