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.
0 comments:
Post a Comment