It’s not very often you can keep someone in your life for over 30 years. It’s also not very often that you can meet someone, torment the crap out of them, and then still have them as a friend for over 30 years. I met a guy in 7th grade, when we were just 12 years old; he joined our class halfway through the school year and we tormented the poor kid (and he helped answer the question “How many people can you get into a VW Bug?” With him stuck in the bottom of the pile of sweaty hormonal teens, the answer was 22.)

And with him, when a cop comes upon the scene and asks what’s going on, the squeaky, finally-let-up answer is, “We’re testing Mitchum Deodorant. It works!”

Murf (he who never updates his blog) was a skinny, short thing in 7th grade. He was imminently pick-on-able and to this day still thinks I was such a nice person for including him in things my friends and I did. Lock him in the girls’ bathroom? Sure! Tell him the dodge balls we have for gym are too small and will sting too much if people get hit with them, and get him to wander around asking for bigger balls? No problem.

He’s now around 6’4”-6’5” and not so skinny. He grew up to be a really nice guy, teaches martial arts, is incredibly happily married with 3 kids. And now he’s 44 years old.

Yep. Murf, you’re always gonna be older than the Spouse Thingy and I.

Happy Birthday!

No comments: