A Two-Ring Proposal

We were in the Shade Garden on October 13, 2012. The cacti were making long, pointed shadows on us as the sun slowly fell behind Camelback Mountain. An Asian woman interrupted as she chased a family of quail with her camera off the designated paths at the Desert Botanical Gardens in Phoenix, AZ. At dusk, the mosquitoes began to buzz and feasted upon our ankle blood. Nerves full and pride swallowed, I hinted to alleviate the pressure. Next, a little light laughter, an answer for most occasions, illuminated the tiny reflection pond. Finally, I muttered something on bended knee. She said yes.

We took the red-throated hummingbirds, the Bee Garden, the succulents, the butterflies with us, and we bathed in apple cider. Our secret was leaking. It could no longer hide in the hem of my jeans. It was bursting from the doors of Bourbon Street. The hiss from burning pumpkin seeds whispered our secret like a game of telephone. Our secret – a child’s face hiding a Snicker’s wrapper with chocolate on the corners of her mouth. Naughty girl – no, you’re naughty.

Volume two begins.

Premeditated Misdemeanor

I am fortunate enough to have two friends with golf connections in the greater Phoenix area. Thus, most Saturday afternoons consist of slices, hooks, and chunks. Golf, as has been said, is a gentleman's game. Last Saturday, I prepared myself for a round at TPC Scottsdale, a professional level course, home of the Waste Management Open. I dressed myself in plaid, bid my roommate adieu, and dashed out the door.

My tee time was approaching quickly, and I was beginning to worry if I would make it in time. I made my foot heavy and sped away. In my haste, I left my water bottle behind. As much as I enjoy golf and many other glorious things in this life, there is one thing, whether I enjoy it or not, that is a permanent part of me -- saving money. Maybe more appropriately stated, cheap runs in my blood. At such a golf course as this, little to nothing is free. So ... I turned back for my water. 

My garage door slowly opened. I quickly parked my car and ran inside to fetch my water. As I made my way passed the living room, I noticed my roommate quickly shuffling things around in my peripheral vision. I stopped and looked at him. His face was normal, but his eyes were hiding something. 

"What's up, man?" he said.

"Not much. Just forgot my water," I replied. We stared at each other for another few seconds, and he finally spoke up.

"I'm eating your chips," he said. 

I then noticed a bag of Salsa Verde Doritos partially hidden behind the couch. He also opened his clenched fist to reveal a purple chip clip. His plan was didactic. He knew exactly when I would be leaving ... but never did he plan for my untimely return. I caught him purple-handed. However, I was not upset. I could only smile and say, "Have as many as you like. Next time just tell me you want some."

His response was something like, "Thanks, but I prefer to eat in secret."

An Offer I Can Refuse

I received a job offer a few days ago for a substantial amount more money than my current salary. Yet, after much thought, I turned it down. I deliberately chose to continue to work in a state of misery. This caused me wonder ... "Am I really miserable?" Honestly, I'm not quite sure. One thing is certain, the offer just didn't feel right.

In other news, Independence Day in Phoenix was oddly mild, around 80 degrees. And like a true American, I watched fireworks in a camp-chair near a trash-infested, back-alley canal with my two best Phoenician friends. It was just us. No crowd, no lines. The fireworks flashed and bounced off the grungy canal, providing just enough light to see a few impoverished ducks wading into the filthy water. Next to those ducks, life felt just fine.