Monday, March 03, 2008

I propose a toast.

I remember the conversation well. You could almost say it wasn’t one and you might not be too far off the mark.

We were in a parking space outside of a library. Which town, I forget. My then 19-year-old brother was headed away to Mexico City for a time when my mom, in all her unbridled enthusiasm, mused on the future. She was incredibly excited to predict the fact that I, a career bachelor, would be married by the time he returned, two years later. I quickly glanced into my future to see if it was what she'd seen and came out with an entirely different outcome: he’d be back and wived before I ever was. Then it was something like “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” followed by a laughing defiant “Wanna make a bet on it?” before she ended it all with a “Quit talking like that!” And so I did. And that was that.

By my calculations, it’s been about five years since the two of us made our separate predictions. And, though we never made it all the way to the point of making a wager, I’d like to go on the record right now as saying that I am less than four months away from being proven right: on Leap Day, DJ proposed to his girlfriend Whitney (of, what, going on two years?) and she was kind enough to take him up on his offer. I’m not going to say “I told you so” to anybody. Just stating facts. I’m going to be some kind of Best Man at some kind of soiree and it’s going to be a wonderful, beautiful occasion.

I couldn’t be happier for my little brother and I know, based on late night conversations and simple, truthful statements, that he’ll be plenty happy, too. He’s been happy for a long time already. He’s gone from pining for her and her not dating him based on an issue with a roommate to showing up on camping trips with her in tow to visiting Dave Matthews in Seattle together. Whit is the very reason I haven’t seen much of him for the past 18 or so months. Next prediction? It’s only going to get worse. Eh, he likes what he likes. And he likes who he likes. She likes him back … I’ve said it before, but that’s the miracle of budding love, right there.

Final prediction. For all who say “So, why ain’choo murried?” or “Where’s yours?” or anything of that ilk anywhere close to me at the reception, I will reward every last one of them with a silent, solitary punch to the face, blood relation or no.

Congratulations are in order. Feel free to send him some love in the comments if'n you wanna.


Jillian said...

I like to give people as many different answers as I can think up to the "why ain'choo married?" question.

My two fav's
-Because I am hideous and unloveable.
-That damn third nipple.

Sara said...

Young love. That's sweet.

aisy said...

yah for dj. i like the punch to the face approach.

i knew a woman who decided to say she was a lesbian to any person who asked the same question at her lil' sister's reception. hilarious.

my own experience with my little bro getting married before me was to say "i just broke up with a guy that i dated for two years." true story which shut people up real quick. so funny to me now.

balboakid said...

Hey bro,

You should bring an escort to the reception. That willl keep the relatives quiet.


Sherpa said...

Ah sweet. Congrats to your bro.

I don't get the question much anymore. I've used a few "witty" lines in the past, but mostly I just nod politely and change the subject.

TRIBU said...

Well said...I just found myself here due to the Sixx story (felons rock!!). As you know I will be in a bridesmaid dress soon celebrating the marriage of my younger sister (who rocks as well!!) and as a future psychologist I think role playing possible outcomes to stupid questions asked at weddings is a good idea. Entonces, I will be prepared to deliver the "punch to the face" so think before asking questions when you see me in line, eh!