"You only can hide who you are if you don't care…"-Armor For Sleep

Ding-Dong.

ImLateImLateImLate!

I'm the freaking white rabbit! Briefcase! Where did I leave it? KeysWallletKeysWallet-Check! Good to go?

Ding-Dong.

Who the hell is at my door?

I jerk the door, my arms loaded with stuff going out to the car. I look like a thief in need of paper reams and office supplies. Hi, can I offer you a post-it?

The couple at my door don't seem to care. It's a short man and his proportionate wife. They're both dressed in Sunday best, carrying Bibles. It's Wednesday.

Crap! I don't have time for a God Salescall! I already have one. Yours is probably the same. GottaGoGottaGoGottaGo!

"Excuse me, sir."

"Yes?" Can we skip to "no thanks" and move on? I'm late. If I show up late for writers' group they'll write things about me! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! I'm doing the toe tapping practically potty dance jig.

"We're from the church around the corner. We're having a Wedding at 6pm and we're inviting everybody from around the neighborhood to come."

A wedding? "I'm sorry?" I've crashed into a wall.

"We'd like you to come to the wedding."

"oh…uhm, no I've got a writers' group I'm late for right now, but here, have a copy of my divorce blog post."

The couple blink in unison, then fold my tract, thank me for sharing, and retreat to the sidewalk sanctuary. I'm sharing with non-believers.

It's funny, because I'm not a non-believer. I believe. I welcome their faith with open arms, in fact I've been thinking a lot about it lately. We'll it's more like a chunk of cake thrust in my face really. A friend and I were talking about marriage. She was sharing a story about her 10th anniversary in Las Vegas. Very cool. I got married there once. She's still married. Great, just jam the confectionary rose up my nose why don't you?

With her and all the news articles popping up, I'm seeing a lot about marriage. I'm about to go crazy. I don't know why marriage is so predominant in my life right now. I think that's just cuz it's the flipside of divorce. Maybe it's part of the healing process, maybe it's just a sign. Maybe I'm going to wear a white dress.

I even had a marriage dream last night. I was tending a bar, like in one of those late 80's early 90's ensemble dramas. You remember, groups of friends living out life, surviving marriage, divorcing, sex with evil girl robots. No, not the robots. Different show…but anyway, these shows always had somebody tending bar, or working in a small indie radio station—sometimes both. In my dream I was that guy. I tended bar. It may have been my bar, that part was unclear and unimportant.

What was important was that a friend of mine I hadn't seen in years came back to town. I'm not sure what she was doing in my bar, but my cast of friends thought it was important she be there. She apparently knew my cast, and how to get them to buy her drinks. Yeah, she was that character.

So here's the weird part. Normally, Rob's dream cast consists of 2 or 3 people. It's usually pretty small. Oh there are faceless prop people, but they're all blurry cutouts. In this dream, everybody was vivid except the friend who'd come back to town. She kept to the back of the bar, sending my other friends up to keep her glass full. We saw each other, but only in a far away sense. And every time I'd move to get a better glimpse, the crowd would shift and she'd disappear again.

One of my friends comes to the bar to order more drinks, while I'm wiping it down with my pristine white bar towel. "I'll take a velvet crush, 3 grasshoppers, and 1 spooge."

In my dream, I'm a cool bartender, I know these drinks like they're the friends I'm serving them to. In real life, I got no clue. I drink rum and coke, margaritas, and screwdrivers. "Coming up Mrs. Butterworth." I continue mixing, but the add, as if it's an afterthought, "Isn't that Eggo Waffle sitting with you?"

"Mrs. Butterworth Laughs, "Aren't you nosey?" I've served her the crush. It's hers. I'm liquoring her up for answers. She sits and swizzles. "Eggo's no longer Waffle. She's married. She's now Jemima."

"Really?" I look to see the lucky husband. He's the only person not milling in Rob's busy dream bar.

"Yes. They have the cutest little boy." She sips then, adds, "You should talk to her."

Shaking my head, I slide the rest of the drinks on the bar. "Naw, she's keeping her distance. I'll respect that. What is she doing in town?" I've figured out why everybody comes to my bar: Dream Rob doesn't charge for drinks.

Dream Butterworth has a great balance and grip. She's cupped the drinks from underneath with both her hands "Oh, her husband's aunt died. They're here for the will…"

Another friend happily married. Even in my dreams. I don't know, like I said, it's like all I'm seeing is marriage. I mean, I'm not in any rush myself. I'm not even dating, but I don't know why all the heavy foreshadowing. Is it my psyche mocking me? Everybody gets one shot, and you failed.

When I finally arrived at writers' group last night people were talking about my blog. One of the guys told a teenage girl "You'll be a MyUnwife too someday."

"Don't say that!" I said, dropping my briefcase. "She deserves better than that!" I mean, with a divorce rate of 50% in the US, 4 people at the table last night will probably get bounced out love's revolving door too. I know 2 of us fell on our asses, but I'm hoping the rest of the group breaks the odds. I'd like to see this girl have her wedding cake and eat it too. She doesn’t need the divorce curses of evil doubters. She's a good Catholic girl, that means if she stays that way, she's planning on marriage for life. I think that's great. I wanted that. If I can't have it, I can want it for her. Maybe this girl can get it. My dream friend got it.

Dream Rob didn't fare at marriage any better than real Rob, but he did get the really popular bar, and the blurry masses dropping by for drinks and laughs. Real Rob can drink to that. Cheers!