Love in an Elevator

This blog post is dedicated to the wife as her anniversary present.

Am I romantic or what?

(This, of course, is probably one of the LAST things she would like for the anniversary happenings, but you know me--this is par for the course. Sorry--no diamond earrings. Maybe next year?)

There's an old Aerosmith song titled, "Love in an Elevator." Great song, not exactly the lyrics I'm looking for but the title reflects the EXACT moment I fell in love. (This blessed event had NOTHING to do with being naughty in an elevator, so STOP IT! Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ride your own elevator and be naughty. This is MY elevator and there is no naughtiness.)

How many of you can say that? (That you know the exact moment you fell in love, not riding an elevator or making love in an elevator--which is something I do not want to think about any of you doing. I told you to STOP IT!)

I won't give you details regarding the event (to protect the guilty--and I WILL NOT be answering any questions about this event once I post my entry, so don't ask me any questions) but I will say the event involved an unspecified elevator, two very drunk people (I'm not saying it was me but there were only the two of us in the elevator) and one beer in the pocket.

(NOTE TO YOUNG, IMPRESSIONABLE NIECES: DO NOT DRINK! EVER! Alcohol is the DEVIL! Do not even think about putting your lips on a bottle of beer! Do not follow in our footsteps. We were wrong! We have mended our ways!!! Don't make us give you a lecture!)
The wife (then not the wife) and I were returning home from a party. (A really fun party. We won't talk about the lady who was sitting on the toilet with a lit cigarette in each ear. I have no idea. This is one reason we no longer drink alcohol. One should not continue drinking when things like this happen.) The wife, for some unknown reason, had a can of beer in her coat pocket. I do not remember the actual brand of beer but I am sure it was very cheap. As we were walking, the beer fell out of her pocket and rolled down the asphalt road (we were, obviously, walking downhill). We watched it roll, roll, roll. Then, I watched the wife start running down the hill, chasing the can. She couldn't, after all, let a good beer go to waste. The beer beat her down the hill but she finally caught up with it and put it back into her pocket. We continued our short trek and ended up at said elevator.


Once we got on the elevator, the two of us leaned up against the wall (probably because we were very tired from chasing that beer and because we were rather inebriated, but I am not saying we were drunk). She leaned against the back wall and I leaned against the left wall. (Okay, I am saying we were drunk.) The doors closed and the elevator began its move toward the floor of choice. As I'm standing there, I hear this ssss-s-s-s-s-s-ssssss noise, kind of like a snake hissing. At first I thought I was hearing things, but then I realize no, there really is a hissing noise. I turn to the not-then-wife and see a thin stream of golden liquid shooting out of the-not-yet-wife's coat pocket. It was a golden arch of beer hissing out of the beer can, shooting out of her pocket. Seems the can must have gotten a hole in it and after being so shaken up, was shooting beer out of the tiny hole in the side of the can.

I BURST out laughing and then stop to realize this is the exact moment I am in love with the not-yet-wife and there is nothing I can do about it.

The date and place don't really matter but the event does. (Sorry, I told you--NO QUESTIONS. Just go with it.) And so, I dedicate this blog entry to the wife, who never again had a beer shooting out of a damaged beer can.

Thank you, dear reader, for indulging me regarding this story. Next year, diamond earrings and no blog posting. I promise.