Lite Night
40 mile per hour gusts at SFO caused me to put down my GQ article on
erotic mind-control and concentrate on hopes of seeing the runway out of the tiny window. My arrival into the house was no less bumpy, filled with "don't honey me"s. Those slid away as we consumed more alcohol. Once again Goldschlager proved to be social lube along with Sublime's "Pawn Shop". Suddenly I was playing pool like a respectable person down at the Pizzaria Uno on Lombard. Between missed shots of stripes and solids she asked if I was interested in marrying her. I told her that she was neither a) on one knee or b) presenting any ring. She quickly produced a coaster and ripped out the center, dropped to her right knee and thrust the "Lite Beer" emblem on my ring finger. I've proposed like this about a hundred times to her before, each time it becomes a little more ridiculous and a lot more silly. I said "yes" like she always says to me when I ask her. Somehow having her ask me is a lot more serious however. I wore the coaster on my finger the rest of the night. Over at the Mauna Loa on Fillmore, Katie the horn-rimmed barmaid was beside herself congratulating us. I wasn't sure this morning if any of this would be remembered. Those thoughts quickly dispersed when she told me we got engaged last night. "OK" I said. "I wasn't asking" she said, "just stating a fact." Oh boy.
