MARY ANN FITZMORRIS / L’Observateur / March 19, 2000

Call me genius. Call me lucky. Call me thrilled. I just returnedfrom the wedding of my very good friend and my very old friend; the two people I set up barely four months ago.

What I did not realize back in November was that this was the fifth time I had played Cupid for my old elementary school friend.

He recounted my previous attempts in painful detail on New Year’s Eve, the night he proposed to my good friend.

I was mortified by his amusing anecdotes, and, at the same time, impressed by his hopefulness. He had suffered through my attemptsto get him married, his own attempts to get himself married, his successful matrimony and unsuccessful marriage, and the attempts of many subsequent women to get him married to them. Still. . .still, after all that, he wanted to try it again. He chuckledgood-naturedly as he outlined his philosophy, “The more women you date the more you can eliminate.” Nice attitude.Hers was directly contradictory. Despite a number of suitors, shewas completely convinced she would forever remain the unmerry widow. Her methods of elimination weren’t as effective as his,since I would sometimes see a fresh bouquet of flowers from someone we both thought was history.

This woman brings out the horticulturist in the male of the species. Every time I went over to her house there were freshflowers. Florists in the area will see a dip in sales now thatshe’s married.

She gets these flowers for an obvious reason. While I don’t thinkshe gives off a nectar-type pheromone, she reeks of goodness. Ashe does. When I look at him now, it’s hard not to flash back 35years. He was a good boy, and he still is.Each recognized these qualities in the other from the beginning.

His first comment about her was “refreshing.” She thought he was”impressive.”Both had been single for eight years. With so much going for eachof them, it’s hard to imagine either one running around loose for so long. But with age comes wisdom; the realization that marriageis only worthwhile if it’s “right.”My friend decided he was the one as soon as he caught his first lizard on her windowsill. She had often said that was all sheneeded from a man. His last need, as I recall, was to borrow apencil, but that was 35 years ago. Whatever current needs he hasshe obviously met.

With amazing speed these two, at age 39 and 46, decided it was “right.” Their googoo-eyed fever infected everyone they knew. It was likehigh school! My friend was giggling about corsages and wearing the jacket he left at her house. All the women she told swooned overtiny details. Their husbands weren’t too interested until theromance that spread like fairy dust settled over their own relationships.

L’amour is contagious. This is an unsubstantiated theory, ofcourse, since I haven’t heard of any studies on this. But in ourown little circle these lovebirds have been so inspirational we are all in a giddy stupor.

Poor Juliet; she wanted to elope.Fortunately, Romeo insisted on ashindig, providing us all with an excuse to give the bride showers she didn’t want and gifts she already has.

For the first of these gatherings, there was an astonishing numbers of guests “bringing friends.” Everyone wanted to be partof this.

It’s no matter. While we were waiting for the bride to show forthe party she refused, we blew bubbles from containers shaped like wedding cakes. We played with potpourri sachets tied withfeathers. By the time she arrived we didn’t even need her.But she came and it was quite a festive party. She was surprisedthat she had a marvelous time and she was surprised that she liked the gifts. But mostly, she was surprised that any of this washappening to her again, after all these years, when she was certain that it couldn’t.

Maybe it was his faith – that it might – which made it all possible.

They’ve asked me how I knew. I tell them I don’t know; I justknew. I also know they’ll live happily ever after, as soon as weall leave them alone.

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