I was sitting under a tree on a mountainside east of San Diego one lovely spring morning in 1978 with a girl I’d been dating for a couple of months, when she turned to me and said, “So when are you going to ask me to marry you?” Being, thank God, not nearly as dumb as I look, I promptly popped the question. A month or so later we did the deed, and 35 years later Lori is still my first, last, and best wife. She’s hard-working, doesn’t have an unkind bone in her body, is even thriftier (read: cheaper) than me, loving, loyal to a fault, and not too hard on the eyes. She takes real good care of me, and I do my best to repay her in kind.
Lori’s been dealing with a few issues while I was out of town the last week or so, and we both ... Log in or subscribe to continue reading.
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