My friend Mike got married last weekend, and I made the trek over state lines to watch.
It was my first Jewish ceremony, and it was incredible.
There was a time, when we were both just out of college and living in Virginia, that Mike and I were like peas and carrots. We ate dinner together most nights, stayed up late writing cover letters and drove into West Virginia to go to a sketchy bar/dance club to get down.
It always surprises me when someone surmises something about me I haven't before noticed. But this weekend, my Tall Drink of Water pointed out that I never think the people who marry my friends are good enough.
"No I don't," I said.
"You always say, 'She's lucky to have him' or 'He's lucky to have her,'" he said.
Hmmm. It's true. I do always say that.
Not that I don't think Mike's new bride is good enough, but if I were to, say, pick out a woman for him, she'd probably be a cancer-curing supermodel who hung on his every word.
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