For those of my readership who are crushing on my Dad… this is a day of mourning for you.

Wrap your pitiful selves in sackcloth, because this is the anniversary of the day that my father married My Lovely Stepmother, Bren.

[Deep breath.]

WITH.

OUT.

TELLING.

ME.

Yeah. Yeah. I KNOW. Punk kids nowadays.

This is how I heard about their nuptials:

“… blah blah blah I did a 38,000 mile bike ride today yada yada yada I worked for 46 hours straight on this project snorf snorf snorf snorf we just got 62 new gerbils and their exercise wheels are now powering the southern United States hagoo hagoo hagoo it’s sunny and glorious and are you still knee-deep in snow? that’s soooooooo horrible I feel such sorrow for you chortle chortle chortle I eat poo oh by the by we got married over the weekend.”

(That is a verbatim quote.)

Anyways… congrats, you fantabulous bastards. You rock.

…

To appease those of you that have not received a sufficient fix of my Dad — I’m looking at YOU, Jenny [stern glare] — here he is on a bike ride.

Yeah. He works out.

No. I don’t know what happened to me.

…

I need a cookie.

If you plan on presenting Your Lovely Wife with a basket filled with dozens and dozens of hand-crafted origami roses, I heartily recommend that you determine your actual aptitude in the field of hand-crafting dozens and dozens of origami roses.

Prior to 9:00 pm on the evening before Valentine’s Day is best.

Otherwise, at 11:45 pm on the evening before Valentine’s Day, you might just find yourself downsizing your previous estimates.

From dozens and dozens.

To six.

Heed me… I KNOW OF WHICH I SPEAK.

My Lovely Wife and I went to dinner on Friday at Mabel and Allie’s.

It was a pleasant evening. They fed us a wide variety of cheeses, thus ensuring my undying fealty. The meal consisted of a variety of Lesbian Lebanese (God! I gotta stop doing that!) delicacies. The conversation was stimulating. (Although I may have made too many submarine references. But really! Who doesn’t love saying “DIVE! DIVE! DIVE!” over and over again? [Looks around.] See? No one!)

But then it happened.

My Lovely Wife met the love of her life.

And it wasn’t me.

It seemed innocuous enough. I kept talking, oblivious to what was happening directly in front of me. But while I was yammering away, My Lovely Wife had snatched her heart back from me and had offered it to another.

The evening ended and we went home. And — bit by bit, moment by moment — I saw my marriage crumble before my very eyes.

Our conversations grew distant and stilted. Meals passed in a strained silence, broken only by my attempts to lighten the mood by singing a description of what I was eating. (Example: “Oatmeeeeeeal… you craaaaa-zy fibrous bastard, with your swinging BROOOOOWN-SUGAR TOPPING, into my belly, we will meet, and become oooooooooone…”)

When she wasn’t looking, I would see her staring off into space, eyes glistening. At night, I would lie awake for hours, tormented by the gulf between us.

It’s…

…

I’m sorry. It’s just so hard.

…

I’ll just get down to it.

She’s gone now. Off with her new lover. I hear they’ve put a down-payment on a condo. They’re talking about getting a dog.

They’re happy.

She’s happy.

…

Me?

I’m going through the motions. Life… damn. It’s so hard. I know it’ll get better. It has to get better. But for now…

It’s hard.

…

I… just have to get this off my chest.

Damn you, Mabel.

Damn you and your damned flour-less chocolate cake.

It stole her from me.

…

However, I am going out for coffee on Friday with your baked brie with sautéed onions. Fingers crossed!

• YouTube: “CSI Miami - Endless Caruso One Liners” (via Ken Levine)

I think I’m going to put “Won’t Get Fooled Again” on a small tape player that I can keep in my pocket. Then, whenever I say something awesome, I’ll hit play.

Admit it, ladies…

YOU’LL BE DRAWN TO ME.

INEXORABLY.

My Lovely Wife explaining her aversion to public displays of affection:

“I like peanut butter. That doesn’t mean I’m going to eat it IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET.”