Covid Irony

 So last July, at a wonderful engagement party, afterwards I became enraged at Rob, an old friend. Rob is a Trumper, anti vaxxer type, and, like all of the invitees, was told to either be vaxxed or get a Covid test before coming to the party. Rob did neither, and we hung with him all evening. At the time, Wifey was still only 6 months post stroke, and when I found out Rob hadn't tested -- I cut him off on social media.

He ended up getting Covid -- a very nasty case -- and nearly ended up in the hospital. He recovered. I learned that he was being invited to the big wedding last weekend, and by now I was over the Covid anger -- we hugged, and caught up. His boy Matt came up to me and told me I was a hero of his -- as a Dad and husband. It was lovely. Rob and I are fine going forward.

On the other end of the political spectrum is the rabbi who performed the ceremony. She's very close to the bride's parents, and VERY much a lefty. One would think she was a safe person when it came to Covid. One would be wrong.

The week before the wedding, her husband came down with Covid. He missed the wedding. She tested Friday, and was negative, and when I saw her Friday at the rehearsal dinner, I assumed she was like Wifey and me -- recently recovered from Omicron, and therefore not at all at risk of Covid or transmitting it -- even though her husband was positive. Turns out that wasn't so.

Two of my most Covid paranoid friends actually drove this rabbi to the wedding, and home afterwards. And, the rabbi was maskless throughout -- singing much of the ceremony to the 250 guests, and doing the priestly blessing to the couple, which I call the Vulcan Mind Meld, as Leonard Nimoy contrived that trick as Mr. Spock based on his orthodox background.

Well -- came the news Monday: she came down with Covid. I KNEW my friends the drivers would get it, or at least one of them would. And sure enough, on Wednesday my friend was so diagnosed. He got an anti viral treatment today, and will hopefully be fine.

But the irony struck me. A "Safe" person wasn't at all. Knowing she hadn't gotten Covid, but her husband had, she ought to have masked up, and certainly not driven 2 hours with vulnerable friends. She did none of that.

The good news is that the damned plague doesn't seem to be hospitalizing most people, and is killing far fewer of them. But it shows the damned thing is out there, and we cannot assume people like us are safe, while idiot Trumper types are dangerous.

Wifey and I are going for our 4th jabs Monday, and in truth, I wonder if it's a waste. My friend who has Covid from the viral rabbi got his 4th a few weeks ago. The problem is the vaccines seem designed for Delta, and we're now 2 major variants away.

Still -- we'll get the jabs, and probably the latest iteration that's supposed to come in the Fall. And we'll hopefully manage risk -- but that is hard.

Dr. Barry told me a long time ago about a famous study -- about people who ask only friends and relatives to donate blood before elective surgical procedures. The thinking is they don't get blood from "dirty strangers." Sure enough, the study showed a HIGHER rate of blood borne disease from the selected population! Simply, turns out that Uncle Phil is a secret IV drug abuses. He has hepatitis. And cousin Jill? She used to sleep with the closeted gay guy...

The point is, managing risk is VERY difficult. As for now, Wifey and I have both HAD Covid, likely Omicron, in the past 4 months. We've been thriced vaxxed. 

We're going out to South Pointe tonight to meet our friends from England, Sandra and Dave. It'll be a crowded steakhouse. Sure -- there's risk. How will we deal? Well, for example, I'm not rushing to go to any indoor events for awhile. If someone gave me great seats for a Heat playoff, I'd go, but that'll probably be it. No concerts interest me these days.

And now I have the wisdom that much of my conventional wisdom was wrong. Anti vax, Trumper, not too bright Rob was no danger. Ultra lefty rabbi, probably an NPR listener and reader of the Times daily, was much a danger.

Ya never know...

A Yahrzeit

 Today is my beloved Mom's yahrzeit, the anniversary of her death. My friend Rabbi Yossi always asks if I wish prayers to be said during morning services, and I politely decline -- Mom was not at all religious. But I honor her memory each year -- her yahrzeit comes 2 weeks after her birthday, and so it's easy to remember.

She spent her final 11 months at Miami Jewish Home. My friend, and former office manager Mirta used to visit her. Wifey's best friend Edna had given Mirta a side gig -- visiting her father, who was at the same place, and just sort of overseeing things. She did the same for my father in law Richard -- which resulted in comical scenes with Meyer and Richard sitting out in the lovely garden, with the much younger woman, comparing notes about their days as ladies men.

My father in law, indeed movie star handsome in his days during and after his stint as a dashing soldier in the IDF, used to say, in his Yiddish accent, that he would never throw a rock in a kindergarten in Haifa, lest he strike one of his bastard children. Wifey was always relieved she was never contacted by a fellow Israeli claiming to be her half sibling. It's probably a good idea for Wifey to not take and register that 23 and Me stuff -- who knows what secrets from the 50s would emerge?

But anyway, Mirta would visit, and later on I would use money from Sunny's Special Needs Trust to pay her. The Trust money would all go back to the state when Mom died anyway, to pay the Medicaid lien, so why not get it to a friend instead, at least on a small basis? Mirta would have gone for free, but I insisted.

And the strange thing is, Mirta said this wheelchair bound, somewhat cognitively impaired woman had, according to Mirta, the biggest impact on her life of anyone she met. Sunny's unfailing optimism, despite being stuck in a nursing home, resonated with her. I mean, Mom impacted her family greatly, but not so much in those final months. For Mirta, who never really knew her as a young, vital woman, it was those last days. Mirta grew to love her.

Well -- on Mom's last birthday, April 13, 2013 (lots of 13s) we gathered for a last party. The Ds were there, as were my Florida sister and brother in law, and their former daughter in law, along with her lovely girls -- now finishing grad school and starting college. Sadly, Mom's favorite grandchild stayed away -- he claimed that seeing his grandmother in her declined state "freaked him out." Whatever.

Also my Tampa niece and her husband were there, with their 2 lovely kids. We ate pizza and cake. Mom was awake but disoriented -- she raised a glass to everyone and said "Happy New Year!" We laughed. Vintage Sunny -- find a way to have everyone laugh hysterically.

After that day, she declined. About a week later, she was mostly unconscious, and struggling to breathe. I met with the nurses and social worker, and said it was time for the on campus hospice to take over. Uh oh, they said -- there was a problem: Dr. Levin didn't "believe in hospice" on account of the fact that he was an orthodox Jew and felt life must be fought for at all costs.

He called me, and we spoke. He had a comical, Jackie Mason accent, even though he was Israeli. "David -- we can put in a feeding tube, and then a ventilator -- she can live on!" No, I replied -- that was precisely AGAINST her wishes, and I was her surrogate. If he wouldn't write the order, I told him, I'd have another doctor take over her final care and get 'er done. He relented with "Well -- at least we had the conversation of alternatives." We did -- I was happy to assuage his guilt. Putz.

And then came the miracle drug: morphine. It quieted her breathing -- got rid of the awful struggling for breath. On April 12th, I knew the end was near. Mirta stayed on late -- she made sure the morphine kept coming, even though the staff grew lazy at night. We spoke near midnight and I told Mirta to go home.

I got up early the next morning. The plan was Wifey was coming later -- her BFF Edna was there, to visit her parents -- and Wifey to visit her father. A fun movie is "Hotel For Dogs." Not so fun was "Hotel for Dying Ancient People," but that's what we had.

Barry had called -- he wanted to come visit Sunny, too. I told him where to meet me.

I drove to Little Haiti, and was getting gas next to Miami Jewish. As I was paying, my cell rang. It was the social worker -- Sunny had just died. I told her I was literally 5 minutes away and would be right there. I arrived to a strong scent of disinfectant -- I was grateful they dealt with the final bowel movement. Mom was peaceful on her bed -- looking so tiny. I thing she has shrunk to about 70 lbs. It was, indeed, time to pass on.

Barry came in, and of course my black humor chided him for always being late -- this time to miss seeing my Mom alive. We hugged. And then I heard Wifey and Edna coming loudly down the hall, pushing my father in law in his wheelchair. He was freaked out by death. I tried to wave my arms, but the two women were, as usual, engaged in the kind of conversation where they block out everyone. Finally I yelled -- "Wifey -- turn around -- she's dead!" They got the message and returned Richard to his room in another building, and then came back.

The large man from the funeral home came, and put Mom in a blue velvet body bag. I kissed her head the last time, and Barry, Edna, Wifey and I stood at attention as they wheeled her out.

I called D1. D2 was up in Gainesville. She and a grad school friend met our party at Soyka -- the cool restaurant a few blocks from MJH. We ate, and toasted Sunny. And that was it for her final day.

She was cremated, and her cremains (I love that word) were shipped to me. They arrived the day before Mother's Day, appropriately. D2 had come back from UF, and the Ds and Wifey were out shopping. I put the box with the cremains on top of a desk and when they returned, said "What -- you don't greet your Grandma Sunny?" They were creeped out, of course, but stopped in their tracks -- first time we had the remains of a dead relative in our house.

My Florida sister was on a cruise, I think, and my California sister was dealing with the aftermath of  a crisis involving her oldest. So I made the executive decision -- Sunday -- Mother's Day, we drove to Mathesson Hammock, which has easy access to Biscayne Bay, part of the Atlantic, where Mom wished to join Dad, whose cremains were spread there 3 decades before.

It was against the law to spread ashes like that -- you're supposed to be a few miles off shore -- but Mom was a famous scofflaw and would have appreciated the final gesture of lawlessness.

We walked into the mangroves, and I spread the cremains. And then, something quite miraculous happened. A flock of beautiful white butterflies flew gently past us. I'd never seen their like before, or since. We accepted the spiritual gift of that from beloved Sunny.

So -- as per wishes, she's in the ocean, like my Dad. Whenever we're at a coastline, we speak to her. D1 lives a few blocks from Biscayne Bay, and always says hello to her grandparents, and introduces them to the beautiful little man. And that warms me.

I honor your love to your family, Mom. We'll all miss you terribly and forever.

The Last YellowHouse Bride

 D2 was fortunate, like her father and sister, to make very close friends in college. There formed a foursome of girls who joined the AEPhi sorority the same year: D2, Ali, Ashley, and Catherine. Catherine and D2 were already friends since Middle School, but grew closer at UF. Ali was from Long Island, and Ashley from Boca.

They all lived in the sorority house their sophomore year, and for junior and senior years rented a house across the street. A savvy investor bought 3 houses, and painted them blue, yellow, and a creamsicle color. D2's posse rented the Yellow House, and lived there very happily for the second half of their undergraduate careers.

They soared academically, with D2 and Catherine invited to join Phi Beta Kappa as juniors, no mean feat. Ashley and D2 got Masters in Business degrees in a single year after their bachelors. Ali got a Masters in Child Life, and now works comforting sick kids at Mt. Sinai Children's Hospital in NYC, with her canine partner, the beautiful Professor. Catherine moved to Atlanta and tore up Emory Law -- graduating Law Review and scoring a job with a top Atlanta firm.

Most significantly, they all chose wonderful life partners. D2 met Jonathan at UF -- they married just over two years ago. Ali married Blake, a fellow Gator, in a wonderful wedding in the Bahamas, where everyone dived into the pool.

Catherine met Jacob, who was in Dental School at UF, after undergrad at UGA. We especially relate, since we both despise the Gator football team. He practices dentistry in Atlanta now -- and I was thrilled for him when the Bulldogs won the ring this year. Their wedding, which Wifey and I were privileged to attend, was at the Rusty Pelican on Key Biscayne, and was beautiful. It also had an ending we'll always remember: a gruesome single car accident, where a woman passenger was impaled on a medium sign, closed down the bridge for hours. We all were trapped there, and so walked back to the mainland in a true Miami carmageddon. Wifey couldn't walk far, and slept on a chair at the restaurant until 530 am, when the bridge reopened.

The rest of us Ubered to the Grove, and got rides from there. But Cath and Jacob are happily together in Atlanta. Oh year, Ali and Blake have a beautiful baby boy, too.

That left Ashley -- the final Yellowhouse bride. She's been dating Kyle for awhile -- also a Gator undergrad, with a law degree from Texas. He's an IP lawyer -- they also live in Atlanta. And this weekend, they're marrying in Austin.

D2, Ali, and Catherine are, of course, all bridesmaids. Wifey and I get to dog sit the enormous puppy over the weekend.

I'm so thrilled for all of them. My college and law school friends are still my brothers and sisters 4 decades on. I know these 4 yellowhouse ladies will be the same.

A picture popped up on FaceBook -- the 4 of them posing in front of a Gator statue, on graduation day. That seemed just a few years ago -- somehow it was 2014 -- 8 years. Caramba.

I've been hearing "Sunrise, Sunset" in my head a lot lately. Saturday Loni and Mike's tow headed little boy became a groom, too. Children grow older...

Wifey and I grunt a lot lately around the house -- creaky bones and joints. She's 4.5 years older than I am. We never forget our age. And yet, we met when we were 22 and 26. I was just starting grad school. And those decades seem to have flown by.

So here's to Ashley and Kyle. The final Yellowhouse, class of '14, wedding. Now I hope the other 3 get on with the business of babies, too.

Unwelcome

 So the Ds know this -- I want all of their friends to move back to Miami. Luckily, many have, after what I call sabbaticals in other parts of the country. Other than the absurdly high cost of housing here, it truly is a wonderful place for young people. There is never a lack of things to do -- from the 4 major sports (plus soccer, I guess) to the best cultural offerings south of NYC. And the biggest events -- hell, F1 is running in May, an event that makes the Super Bowl seem minor league.

At the wedding Saturday night, I was chatting with one of my favorites of the Ds' friends: Ben. He and D2 have been close since Middle School. They went off to UF together, and Ben became very close with D2's dear friends.

After UF, Ben did Teach for America at a poor school in the Bronx, and now has a permanent job there. He is, I have zero doubt, one of the best they have -- caring, compassionate, extremely smart, and dedicated.

His younger brother is a prosecutor in town, and his youngest is doing Teach for America in LA. 

So I cornered Ben, who is himself a product of Miami Dade public schools, and told him it was time to come home -- bring what he learned in NYC here -- be close to his parents and brother, and live the superior lifestyle Miami provides. 

He shook his head. Never, he said, as long as the Republicans and DeSantis control things. Ben came out several years ago, and said he is proudly gay, and wants to have a family someday -- how can he do that in a place that has now legalized anti-gay policies?

I tried to give him my usual response: I agree no one can live in Florida -- they have to live in Miami. But Ben said he would discuss it with me someday at length -- the wedding wasn't the place.

I get it, and I understand. If you're told by the government you're not welcome -- would you want to be here?

It's a pity. Ben is a gifted man -- and will someday be, I have zero doubt, a wonderful Dad. We lose out not having him.

But as for me -- well, of the luckiest things about my life, and I have manifold lucky things -- having my kids here is paramount.

I just got a FaceTime with D2 -- walking the enormous dog along Biscayne Bay at their apartment. And she told me she has dinner plans tomorrow with D1.

Thursday our English friends Sandra and Dave are in town -- staying on Miami Beach, very close to D2 and Jonathan.. They're leaving on a cruise Friday, and we have dinner plans -- Smith and Wollensky -- maybe we'll see some ships passing on the Cut.

After dinner, I told D2 we'd come by and fetch Betsy. We run a hotel for dogs, and D2 and Jonathan are headed to Austin Friday for a wedding -- Betsy will vacation with us. I saw her best friend Jagger today and told him. He wagged his tail at the thought of romping with Betsy this weekend.

The wedding is for Ashley -- the last of the Yellow House friends to marry. Her fiance is Kyle -- the son of a preacher man -- the only one who could ever move her. Ha. As if I can EVER avoid hearing that song in my head when I think of Kyle. He's an IP lawyer in Atlanta, and a terrific young man. He stayed here with Ashley over NYE a few years back and we got to know and admire him.

D2, Catherine, Ali, and Ashley -- sorority sisters, and roommates for 2 years in the above described Yellow House. And they all married very well -- and Ali has an adorable baby. I sure hope the other three catch up in that department -- particularly D2.

Maybe things will change here politically. DeSantis barely won -- and the Democratic candidate was a clown who ended up drugged out in a hotel with a male escort -- so maybe he wasn't the strongest opponent.

Hopefully a majority of voters will thing Desantis and company have gone too far with the culture war stuff -- worried about sex and abortion more than things like property insurance and funding health care. I guess we'll see.

It'd be nice to be welcoming to good people again.

Don't Stop The Party

 So we eschewed Uber, and instead drove to Brickell. I'm not sure why -- I really, really dig Uber. Each time I summon the car, I feel like Thurston Howell from Gilligan's Island -- like a very rich guy with a chauffer. I probably ought to use it more. But last night we drove the girly Lexus sedan to the Four Seasons.

I hadn't been to the building in over 10 years -- it's still elegant. I took a photo of Wifey standing under an enormous Botero sculpture of a not quite anatomically correct corpulent woman. And then we went to the event space.

I ran into Rob, a fellow I had some tensosity with last July, as he came to the engagement party for the couple without a Covid test -- putting newly recovered Wifey at potential risk. But like most folks, I am OVER Covid -- even if it's not over us, and as Wifey and I are triple vaxxed and both fought off the damned plague in January and March, I'm not too concerned. And so we caught up with Rob, and his boys, one of whom, Matt, is an accomplished LA artist. He came up to me and hugged me and said I was always a rold model to him -- as a husband and Dad. Aw. He is doing well in that regard, with a beautiful wife and baby girl back in LA.

The ceremony was lovely -- the party came in to a string version of "Beyond the Sea." The officiant was Jamie, who I told Barry, sitting next to me like the junior high boys we remain, that I call her a RWT. What's that? A rabbi without testicles. We stifled our laughter, of course.

Lili and Jeff were masked up -- they have a Duke graduation for their youngest in a few weeks and don't want no Covid messing that up.

The vows moved us, or me, at least, to some wet eyes. Chris is such a genuine and amazing young man, and he spoke about how lucky he is -- with parents who gave him the world, and friends who are true brothers and sisters, and yet the luckiest thing ever was having his high school girlfriend at his side to start life's journey.

Rachel said she knew she was going to marry Chris when they met, at 18, even though he was moving to LA for college and she headed to Atlanta, for Emory. And Rachel, quiet and sweet, gets what she wants -- and she knew that a teen meeting at Palmetto High would lead to a chuppah someday.

I told Wifey there was a lot of dust in the room -- hence my wet eyes. She smiled -- sometimes her emotionally blocked husband lets it go.

At the cocktail hour, we caught up with Arnie and Ronnie -- Arnie was Mike's Dad Ed's longtime partner -- he finally retired from law at 78. Of course,we talked about times of old in the law biz.

The drinks poured, but I knew I was going far more modestly than I did at the rehearsal dinner. I simply can't drink heavily 2 nights in a row.

Dinner was delicious -- a band with a DJ kept the gringo crowd moving -- and then there was a surprise guest -- Sebastian the Ibis. He danced around, and lead a CANES cheer -- as both Rachel and Chris have their grad degrees from the U. Wifey posed for a snap with our beloved mascot -- a Cane by marriage.

I told Loni the truth -- in the nearly 40 years I've known her, she never looked more beautiful. Wifey concurred. Maybe that's why they had us sit at the groom's parent table -- with Chris's aunt Jeannine, her husband Ray, the grandma Marci, and Darriel and Paul. It was delightful.

We left around midnight. The Ds also had big nights. D1 and Joey were at a wedding on the Beach -- her friend Caroline. And D2 and Jonathan were taken to a place on the Miami River by some corporate lawyers thanking Jonathan for a deal they worked on -- and D2 sampled well, it seemed, their mezcal.

And now it's a quiet Sunday. Wifey is sleeping in. I have coffee and jazz on WDNA -- my go to Sunday am music. And think back upon the young, fecund people who are taking over the world -- as they should.

And as for Chris and Rachel, to steal a Paul Williams lyric, they've only just begun. And it was delightful to be a part of that.

It's A Nice Day For A White Wedding

 Ah young Chris -- a wonderful young man. He's Mike and Loni's son, and we known him his entire life. We attended his baptism at a local Catholic church, and I helped hold him -- telling the very funny priest I was Jewish. He said I was therefore and older brother.

This turned out to be very funny years later, when Chris's mom learned she was halachically Jewish. Her Mom Marci never bothered to tell her family she was the product of European Jews -- she married Don, and lived a Catholic life. But genetics reared its head via a Christmas gift from Ralph, Loni's brother in law, who learned that his wife, Loni's sister, was 50% Ashkenazi. How could that be? Well, when your Mom is Jewish, that splains it.

So Chris's high school girlfriend Rachel had no questions about her upbringing -- her parents are garden variety Miami Ashkenazim. Chris went to USC, and Rachel to Emory, and they both came home to UM for grad school -- Chris law, and Rachel an MPH. They're delightful, and last night was their rehearsal dinner, hosted by Mike and Loni.

They picked Trulucks, my old club. Victor was there, hustling to keep up with the thirsty partiers. Wifey said she wanted to drink, too, and so we Ubered to Brickell. She had several proseccos, and I many martinis. It was delightful -- catching up with old friends.

Amanda and her wonderful boyfriend were in from LA. I told the young man, after several drinks, that I had only met him twice, but got excellent vibes from him. Amanda is like another daughter to us. I then told him maybe it was time to have a second wedding for Mike and Loni. He laughed, and said it was coming. That made me very happy.

Wifey and I saw with Darriel and Paul -- dear friends who had to relocate to Richmond, Va after Paul's company gave him the choice of moving or retiring. At 59 he wasn't ready for the latter, and so they sold in Kendall and bought in Va. They're happy there, but miss terribly their grown kids and grandkids. Marlowe is graduating UF in May, and Paul and I joked about having to endure a visit to Gatorland. The good news is that the J School graduation is in the O Dome, less odious to we Canes than the Swamp. The bad news is that the speaker is Tim Tebow. Yuck. But Marlowe is off the NYU J school in the Fall, on full scholarship. We've known that girl was a star since she was in Middle School.

The party moved to outside tables, and it was lovely. The tall buildings surrounded us -- it was a gorgeous night. The food was great, and the laughter hearty. Our Uber got us home in about a half hour, but I slept the sleep of multiple martinis.

Today the friendly Venezuelan appliance installers are back. In the "Nothing is Easy" Department, turned out we were storing the wrong compactor -- they had to fetch the stainless one -- and the Thermidor top needed a cut. So Miguel is back with his special saw, and we will have our stove top in soon.

As for the fridge -- well --we got a call from Junior yesterday. He got in several of the big Kitchenaids -- but without the anti-fingerprint finish. Wifey said no, no , no. Junior said we might have to wait awhile -- I told him with my temp unit, I was fine for the duration.

Tonight we head back to Brickell, to the Four Seasons, for the big wedding. I think 300 people are invited. Since I know a bit about these big ass events, I'm estimating tonight is a $250K party. Ah. Very nice to attend when all I have to do is tip the valet.

I think we'll drive tonight -- I don't heavily drink two nights in a row, and I think Wifey is good for awhile.

So congratulations to Rachel and Chris. To 120, as the Italians say. When you watch a little boy grow up to be a fine man, and he finds his besheret, well, that's some fine stuff right there.

Some Guys Have All The Luck

 So I have a second cousin named Gavin, and he found me on FaceBook (tm). He's a nice fellow, I think in his mid 50s. His mother Arlyne was the oldest of the first cousins on my Mom's side (I'm the youngest). She died a few years back, after a very tough life beset with serious mental illness.

But Gavin graduated college and joined the Army, and retired, best I can tell, as a full colonel. He married later on, and has 2 teens -- he lives near Boston. I attended his son's Bar Mitzvah on Zoom during the early days of the pandemic. And lately, Gavin's been posting from Aruba, where he's on a family trip.

Someone asked him if he made the itinerary using military services. No, he replied, his in laws booked and paid for the entire trip! Wow. What a concept.

My father in law, may he rest in peace, last paid a tab for us the year before I graduated law school. I would always pay, of course, but he never even made a feeble attempt to pick up a check. He had a son in law who was a big shot lawyer, and that was that.

Wifey paid for several big trips for them, including two visits to Poland to see their childhood homes. It was a sort of March of the Living done privately, without the happy Israel part. Also, when my in laws (specifically my mother in law) decided she needed to move condos within Century Village, to have a place on a fake lake, we had to buy the unit so they could be "on the vater."

Paid trip to Aruba? Ha. I mentioned this to Wifey, and she said "Well, you always pay for the Ds and their husbands -- so there IS in law paying!" Yes -- but I was talking about being the payee, not the payor!

Also on FaceBook is another lucky son of a bitch, who I'll call Craig, since that's his name. Craig is an old friend who has a law practice, and was never particularly successful. And yet, he always had an air of elegance about him that belied his economic station -- dressed nattily, and spoke like a country club member.

He divorced his second wife, the baby mama, and settled into a nice middle class life with a condo in West Kendall. He never killed himself at work. And then, his FaceBook photos changed from Disney to Paris. Literally -- his trips moved very upscale. Hmmm... had he finally hit it big? He had, but not at his law firm -- with a girlfriend.

He started dating a VERY rich divorcee -- her husband founded a major company here in town. She's loaded. And Craig seems to happily moved up in that regard.

Wow. I never had a woman take ME to Paris. Some guys have all the luck.

It's ok. I inherited the idea that men are to be noble mules from my Dad. He always picked up the tabs at dinner. In fact, a running joke was when we were out with my sister and brother in law. My much younger than my Dad bro in law would ask for the check. The server would often look surprised -- traditionally the oldest man grabs it. My brother in law, a CPA, would then audit the charges, hand it to my Dad, and say "Yes -- it's correct, Dad. Thanks." It always drew laughs.

So no in law paid trips to the Caribbean for me, nor trips to Paris paid by a rich girlfriend. And when my sons in law TRY to pay, I always remind them of the great scene from the Sopranos, when Meadow's boyfriend Finn secretly pays for dinner, to thank Tony for his generosity. Tony goes nuts, and throws Finn against a wall, saying "This is MY family. I pay! Someday you get your own family, you can pay!" Poor Finn slinks away, apologizing for what he thought was a proper gesture.

The Ds men and I enjoy retelling the tale at dinner. They know it's my pleasure to treat my family. But I can still joke about longing to be a gigolo, can't I?