May 25, 2009 04:36
In conclusion, I am not going to any more weddings with Jeremy O'Bryan, because all anyone over 40 talks about is when are we going to walk the plank? Also I would, a little bit, like to smack him on the arm or somewhere else fairly benign with the yardstick for telling Jeanine at Christmastime that he was "working on" buying me an engagement ring, which he was not, and is not, because now that's all she talks about, and she told her mother, and she told my grandmother. No, I don't know what kind of wedding I would want, or what kind of dress, or at which church (blech, by the way). When you grow up twice the size of your peers, you learn not to even think about that sort of thing to prevent being hurt because you know you can't have it. Even now, if I catch myself thinking about it, even a little, I mentally taze myself and move on to other topics.
Plus, now, it's not even about my size. It's either him or me, but if that were something he wanted he would have pursued it by now. We all know that the O'Bryan male is a creature who satisfies his desires, be they for cheeseburgers, advanced education or new techie gadgets. If he hasn't done something, like skydiving, working out or asking someone to marry him, it's because he doesn't want to, whether that's because he just doesn't want to, or because I am not marryin' material (I admit, the thought has crossed my mind that if that's the case, it could be because my ass has the strength of ten asses, plus two).