My dear friend Eve is getting married.

We’ve known each other a hell of a long time. We met when we were in the 9th grade. 1986. We’ve been through a lot. We’ve had times when we were distant and times when we were seemingly insuperable. Times when he hardly talked and times when we made an effort to mail a letter to each other every day. We went to our Senior Prom together, and we went to our Ten Year Anniversary together.

We both had big hair at one point, but hers was much bigger.

She knew me when I was fat, and she knows me now. I knew her when her hair was a different color every week and when she started carrying a chihuahua around in her purse.

She was one of my groomsmen at my wedding. Unfortunately, because life sometimes gets in the way, I cannot attend hers.

But I will be thinking of her. And of her new husband.

I can’t remember how long they have been together, but I do remember many conversations about him. Never once do I recall a conversation where she said he treated her badly. No conversations about how he didn’t pay attention to her needs, or that he was insensitive. In fact, while there were occasional gripes, most of our conversations that revolved around him were about how happy he made her, and how hopefully one day they would make it official and get married.

That day is coming.

I’m proud of you, pooka. And I’m happy for you. I will be there this weekend, in spirit if nothing else. Every time you see an Elvis impersonator think of me and know that I’ll be hoping you get a Hunka Hunka Burning Love without needing to sing the Jailhouse Rock. Try not to get into too much trouble.

God knows with the group you’re taking that’s going to be rough.

But at least, if you do, you’ll have a loyal and loving man at your side to deal with it.

—

And on another note…

My sister K. called. She and her man are making it official. They are getting married, and she has asked me to walk her down the aisle in our Father’s place.

Yeah.

It’s an emotional kind of morning.