Sometimes on road trips I get all liquored up on Nyquil to combat my body’s decision to build an abundantly large dam of mucus in my nasal cavity. This of course affects the quality of the post you are about to read. On behalf of my semi-drunk subconscious, I do apologize.
For full effect, download “Kiss From A Rose” by Seal, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. I would also like to add that song was in fact the most heralded song of my childhood. Only to be preceded by “I Swear” by All-4-One, and followed by, “Tubthumper” by Chumbawamba.
Road trips do silly things to my head. When the highlight of my evening will be a podcast about Prohibition while I drive 118 miles into the darkness, you know I’ve been around the block. And after claiming my home address to be the front seat of a Nissan Rogue for the past three years and counting, I will admit I have seen the world. Especially when that crazy world I’m talking about is Twin Falls, Idaho.
Historically, Twin Falls and I have not been on the best of terms. In my not too distant history, trips to Twin Falls have included cheering on my buddy’s psychotic ex-girlfriend’s cousin in a backyard boxing match, and a witch doctor telling me the reason I black out and drool on myself in epileptic fashion is not from severe head trauma as a child, but actually from a 15-foot tapeworm growing on my small intestine.
Yes, I’ve met some crazy ones up here.
But last night was different. Last night I sat with two lovebirds and dined over the most expensive meal Applebee’s could offer, and we talked late into the night about everything from masterful habits, to dirty jokes, to life-altering career changes. Last night I spent the evening with two people who passed my “Front Porch Test”.
Kids, you may remember about a year ago when I was able to spend time on a road trip with another classy couple, a couple that I could see myself talking to when we’re all old and wrinkly. I’m referring to people in my life who, as Lily Aldrin so eloquently put, “pass the front porch test”. These are the people who I want to be on the front porch of my retirement home playing Bridge with. These are the people who I want to be a part of my life when I can’t control my bowels anymore.
You have people like this in your own life, don’t you? They may be high school teammates, college roommates, or a new co-worker who you instantly became AFFTNSMAL with. And for those of you who aren’t fluent in high-school acronyms, that last one meant Adequate Friends For The Next Six Months At Least. Everyone has people in their lives that they want to enjoy life with for the next five decades, and pray to high heaven that their future posterity dates, courts, and marries each other. Now that would be ideal.
So last night as I stuffed down another helping of a Blondie Ice Cream Sundae, I realized that this is another couple I can see myself playing Bridge with on my own front porch. This is a couple I would go on a cruise to the Bahamas with. This is a couple that I more than likely am going to name one of my firstborn children after. I’m sorry kids, if you don’t like the names Derek or Kendra, I just had to do it.
I L-word people like this. They play a small but significant role in the reason I get up every morning. Friends like this you can’t write into a Hollywood screenplay, they’re just that amazing.
As the night wound down and I began to load my fat body into my car, my buddy’s wife turned to me and said, “You know, I just wish you lived closer to us. We would have so much fun talking and hanging out. It would be awesome!”
“It would be a great threesome.” I replied, joking about the fact that I am still living the single life in a culture that is damning me for my age. She was right though. Derek and Kendra, myself and my wife, the four of us sitting on a front porch playing Bridge, you can't paint a better picture.
“Well that’s it then.” she said. “Just go get a wife that we approve of, and it will be perfect.”
It will be. As soon as I find her.