I was going to ask Carissa to marry me. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Two months now. I’m ready, you know. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my whole life. I mean, this is me we’re talking about. Me! The guy who was late to the championship little league game, high school and college graduations, and to my dad’s funeral. I’m late for everything. So for me to say that I’m ready for anything, to get married; man, that’s a huge deal. Though I’ll probably be late to the wedding, know what I mean?
Anyway.
I’ve taken to dreaming about Carissa, you know. Nothing nasty and like that. She’s just standing there smiling at me in that mischievous way she has, like she’s daring me to do something. I wake up smiling every morning now. That’s how I knew it was time to pop the question. What else could it mean that I dream about her every night? She’s daring me to ask her. And for a second I think, What if she says no? Then I toss that idea right out the window. What the fuck? She’s not going to say no.
So last week, I got the ring. I went down to that jewelry store on Fifth. The one with the classy displays in the windows. None of that bright, flashy crap. That’s how you know a jewelry store only has crap. They put a lot of junk together in a window so all you see is shiny stuff and you can’t get a good look at anything. This place isn’t like that. They have windows with just one thing; like a thick necklace on a nice black cloth under one light. Bam!
You know the store I’m talking about. They don’t have the door locked or some big guy guarding the place. But you just know, when you go in there, you just know you better not try anything shady. ’Cause they are so calm in there. They talk in a nice, calm voice. They don’t get excited about stuff. They just show you a thing or two and tell you about the quality and where things are from and like that. And they don’t tell you the price unless you ask. They are just calm, quiet; in their nice suits. Armani or something, I guess. Maybe it’s a Russian mob business.
Anyway, there is no good reason for us not to get married. Carissa is exactly who I’ve been waiting for. She’s hot and smart, but not too smart, not stuffy and boring. And she’s damn good to me. Better than any woman has ever been to me, even my mother. She won’t find out about this will she? My mother, I mean.
I’ve never been much of a bachelor, if you know what I mean. No carousing and chasing skirts. My friends are right; I’m a serial monogamist. And there is nothing wrong with that. Before Carissa, there were only four other girls. And I’m a man of 28! I know what I like. It’s that simple. I’m not big on one-night stands. A frigging mess is what those are.
The way I see it, if Carissa marries me, I’m guaranteed to see her every night and every morning. She’s always so busy, you know. She works so damn hard. Sometimes she doesn’t even go home. She’ll stay overnight at some place by her office and go right back to work the next morning. I don’t know why she works so much. I feel sorry for her. And the weekends? Forget it! She just wants to relax, get a massage, that kind of thing. I hate to get in her way. But sometimes, I just need her. So we make these, like, appointments with each other. And when it works, it’s good. I try to keep her happy, with massages and good loving. So she is relaxed and rested and content. And she does things to me that… well; I don’t need to spell it out for you. No complaints there. ‘Cause every time, I mean every single time, I end up gasping, “Oh, Carissa,” again and again.