In the four decades since I took a driver's ed class, I have become such a proficient motorist that I could teach a class myself except that I have two speeding tickets on my record and my name isn't Ed.
With apologies to Nathaniel Hawthorne, who is dead and can't sue me, I live in the House of the Three Gables. When the vent in the main one, the Clark gable, was gone with the wind after a recent storm, my wife, Sue, asked me to fix it.
I didn't major in physics in college, though I do have a BS in life, but I know that one of the principles of this fascinating science is that any space will be filled -- except, of course, the one between my ears.
As a painter, Pablo Picasso had nothing on me. Sure, he had a Blue Period, but it lasted only three years. My Blue Period has lasted almost 25 years, and every time I've had a painting project, it's made me blue, which is the color of the master bedroom and the adjoining bathroom.
I could never see myself in a little French maid's outfit, except on weekends while doing my household chores, and I don't suppose I'll ever wear one because: (a) I probably couldn't find something like that in my size and (b) I don't speak French.
During the last two years, I have had the privilege of making many new military mom friends. I have been so inspired by these incredible women -- their flexibility, their bravery, their loyalty, their commitment and their toughness.
I've enjoyed a love affair that has lasted over 30 years. Through clogged plumbing (both bodily and home related). Through dozens of financial roller coaster rides. And countless arguments, cocktails parties and orgasms.
Those stories that we tell -- how we met, how he proposed, the birth of each of our children -- those stories are what connect us to each other and keep us remembering all (so much!) that we've experienced together.
It was the dream I had last night -- the candlelit affair of tulle, crepe bows and the allure of a silk train snaking up a set of white stone stairs -- that threw me into a full-blown, self-induced panic attack for the majority of last week.
And here lies her secret to a successful, long career of matching over 154 couples. She swears that, so far, she has had only one failure. Only one couple broke up soon after marriage from the ones she matched over a span of 12 years.
I will start my own brotherhood of the traveling sweatpants, a hidden society of all the comfortable ripped jeans, old concert shirts and busted outfit man clothes that wives would like to seek and destroy. We shall pass them around for safekeeping from man cave to man cave.