One of the treasures I found in my basement during our recent purge was this [ahem] book I wrote for a friend of mine. An old boyfriend, actually, but the terrific kind you end up wanting to keep as a pal forever and who gets along famously with your husband. I'm guessing it's been a decade at least since I composed this piece of chummy chutzpah. I base so much of my time reckoning on my dog—Was that the pre-Izzy period? Or did it happen after he came to live with us?—and in this case, I can't quite recall if we were with or without our pet. At any rate, Dave (that's the friend who was the lucky object of my concern) was living in Las Vegas, and we were in frequent contact by telephone and computer. Dave was living the life of a swingin' but lonesome bachelor, and seemed both eager and reluctant to settle down. After a long string of melancholy communications from him, I decided it was time to lay the lecture on the line.
But I couldn't do it in the usual way. Regular old rude finger-waggling just ain't my style. So, armed with way too many magazines, a pair of scissors, some bond paper, a glue stick, and tongue in cheek, I commenced with my sage advice.
Luckily, I made myself a photocopy of my masterpiece of motivation, and sent him the technicolor original. It's fun to relive this little moment of our lives.
By the way, not too long after my ransom note-style discourse, Dave pulled on his trunks, dove into the gene pool, and surfaced with the woman of his dreams. They were married in Boston, and I'm assuming they lived happily ever after, but I can't say for sure; it's been a while since we've heard from them. Time to do a people search.
Enjoy. (Don't forget to click on the images for a larger view if you aren't able to read some of the microscopic details.)
P.S. The parenthetical statements are supposed to be Dave's muttering responses to my sermon, more or less. Just an FYI. Also, the "calcium-enriched"/medical page references a sobering sort of health scare Dave passed through (and eventually vice versa) during that time, which, shall we say, served to get his attention as touching all issues manly and procreative. Ouch, ouch, ouch.