Despite a proper upbringing and intentions, I entered the workforce a resounding failure. By then high school was little more than a delinquent memory; the Navy left
far fresher impressions - but even those uptight goobs weren't naming any new submarines after me. As far as I know they erased any hint of my enlistment once I traded in my uniform for a wicked new mullet. Community college offered some solace at first, but for every English Lit course that elevated my pulse, a biology class came along and made me feel like a lesser lifeform. Striking out on my own, I found whole new ways to flounder: a one-day gig at a windshield factory, a slightly longer stint
as an orderly at the local hospital, even a turgid couple of months selling BMW's to coveting yuppies. None stuck, so instead I turned my attention to the study of late night chicanery around the campus of ECU. There I would have stayed, aging less than gracefully into one of those pockmarked losers known to buy endless rounds of shots for every new freshman class. But alas, I had a secret weapon...
I had a girlfriend. A smart one too; one that held me to a higher standard even as she rendered me agog with a single pair of red shorts. But Shelly was no strumpet. No, she was an overachiever going to an out of state school on a full scholarship. What exactly she saw in me I never figured out - but I stumbled along thinking she'd one day wise up and leave me free to pursue all manners of mediocrity. She did not. Instead, she held my hand in public and laughed at my jokes - providing me with the kind of boost in confidence that only a pretty girl on your arm can provide. Together we swooned - even sharing the same haircut for a couple of years. At the end of the decade I proposed and
18 years ago today, we sauntered down the aisle in newlywed bliss. Other than our love, we had not a pot to piss in. I'll never forget moving in to our first apartment; it took about ten minutes. From there, we had
nowhere to go but up. She entered nursing school, I enrolled in the extended poverty program at my very first television station. Who knew that any of it would last?
But it did! Nearly twenty years later, she's still a nurse, I still lift cameras for a living and we're still happily married. Sure,
she cloned herself in the form of our two lovely daughters - but who's really counting anyway? I'm not, for I'm way too occupied tabulating the blessings in my life to bother myself with any new math. I just feel bad for her ... Here I wed three species above my own and this poor girl gets stuck with the Walter Mitty of TV news photographers. It ain't right, I tell ya! in fact, I'm going to file a formal complaint with the cosmos on her behalf - just as soon as I shirk this mortal coil. Until then, I'll keep my furry mouth shut, for my bride feeds me on a regular basis, allows me to sleep on the bed most nights and even puts up with my little writing obsession. For this you'd think she'd deserve a professional Hallmark card or something, not just another
half-baked blog post...
Hmmm. Maybe next year.