We did exactly what we weren’t supposed to do – walk across Midtown in the middle of the afternoon. The heat advisory went out last night and warned everybody to chill out today, but Tessa and I were determined to do two things important for the marriage – see our couples therapist, and get wedding bands.
The therapy was good as usual. Sometimes I don’t quite know where it is leading, and Tessa is much better at the therapy thing than I am. She has a natural relationship with discussing problems to a disinterested party, and I still feel like I need to put on a show. Regardless, it has to be good for us – my own parents wouldn’t have lasted three seconds with Dr. Abrons, not because he’s a taskmaster or anything, but because they would have realized how ill-suited they were for one another.
This week it was my turn to give my detailed family history, and I tried do so with equanimity, but I’m sure I lapsed into solipsistic self-pity every once in a while. I recalled a story about my CB radio in 1979 that actually made Tessa cry, and then I realized I should be a little more frugal with the woeful tales. I got a million of ‘em, I tellsya, and I’m not sure if my photographic recall of every transgression I suffered as a kid is doing me any favors.
I encourage any couple about to get married to get a little therapy. Not to be an asshole or anything, but if you’re resistant to it, you should ask yourself why you are. I was definitely rolling my eyes skyward when Tessa brought it up when we were merely dating, but now that August 9 looms before us, I’m glad we have a few tools to circumnavigate each other’s complicated orbs.
Speaking of complicated orbs, something happens to us guys in the New York heat that perhaps you ladies don’t know about. Either way, I’ve started wearing breathable running undies underneath my shorts, and as Robert Frost says, it has made all the difference. The walk across town to Fortunoff was one of unending unpleasantness, but at least I felt secure and dry for today’s active lifestyles.
Hey, if you didn’t read it here, where would read it?
Inside the delightfully temperate Fortunoff, we tried to find our usual lady, but she had the day off, and we ended up with a German dude named Jakob who looked like a cross between Slugworth from Willie Wonka and the Nazi who burns his hand in “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” Very pleasant gentleman, however, and fitted me with my first ring ever. I’ve always liked Lindsay’s ring, an artifact from Roman times, and this one is similarly manly, with an ancient druidical flair. If I’m going to wear a ring, I want one that has druidical flair, know what I mean?
Tonight was Michelle’s birthday, but she had her party at Sahara East on 1st Avenue – I would call it the “aptly-named Sahara East,” except that the actual Sahara doesn’t have humidity. It was so hot as to be funny, so we said hello to her friends, and then went home to expire in the air conditioning. We’ll celebrate Michelle’s birthday tomorrow when our synapses start firing in the right direction again, and my complicated orbs air out a little.