As Frank Sinatra sang, Regrets, I’ve had a few thousand. But then again, too many to mention. One, however, bears mentioning as a certain date approaches.
First let me say: Happy anniversary to my brother, Chris and sister-in-law, Grace, on 26 years of marital bliss and harmony. I just wish they slept more.
Their momentous day is an absolute cringer for me. I am making sure I will be in Florida or parts unknown when they celebrate with family and friends.
And why do I wish they slept more? Well, according to a couple of recent studies, humans sleep to forget. There’s a lot of clutter the brain absorbs during the day and when we sleep, the brain dumps some stuff. It seems my brother and his bride had gotten so much sleep they forgot to celebrate their 25th anniversary, and after prodding by some insomniacs they decided to make a big deal out of Number 26.
Which is unfortunate for me.
I am hoping everyone at their party slips into Rip Van Winkle mode and forgets I wasn’t there. And they forget why I would want to be in Florida.
Of course I can’t remember where I put my car keys or what I had for lunch, but what I really want to forget is locked inside in my head forever. Embarrassing moments and things I really regret. Gotta ask those people who did the study how much sleep I need for that.
Anyway, on their happy wedding day or shortly before (that part I forget!), they had the fun idea of creating a time capsule. People were invited to put in stuff from that era. I didn't know what that might be. Doogie Howser posters or stonewashed jeans? Maybe photos of women with huge hair and men with mullets. I thought I’d be clever. And I thought only my brother would be opening this thing.
You know that expression, “And they said it wouldn’t last…?” Well, I thought it was a good idea to play Nostradamus and make five predictions. I wrote them down and slipped them inside an envelope and tossed it in the time capsule.
I’m pretty sure I predicted (god forbid) that Andrew Cuomo would be Vice President. I can’t remember the others. Except for one. I predicted that this union would not last; that groom and bride would be splitsville. Now you know why I have made travel plans for when the time capsule will be unearthed.
In my defense, their courtship was nothing if not eventful. The young bride was waaaaay late for the wedding. I thought I was making a safe bet. When Year Ten of their marriage rolled around I started losing sleep and apparently my ability to forget what was on the horizon.
When Year Twenty was celebrated, I had to start dropping hints that maybe opening the time capsule on their 50th Anniversary was a better idea. They immediately became suspicious.
I fessed up at some point and told them about my regretful entry. They kinda, sorta laughed it off, but there have been a few times Grace, annoyed with her blockhead of a husband, has told me my prediction still had a chance.
Now go to sleep all of you. And forget this column. I wish I could.
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