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I fell for her hard on that trip, and planned to propose on the dance floor at the Tropicana nightclub. But a deluge caused her to burst into tears and the moment was lost and I got cold feet and time passed.
Finally she asked me.
“Would you marry me?”
I saw a grammatical opening, and took it.
“You mean, theoretically, in the future? Maybe,” I said.
“No. WILL you marry me?”
I said yes and we eloped to Mexico and got married on the beach by Mrs. Razo, the justice of the peace. We didn’t know we needed four witnesses in Mexico, so we rounded up some guys from a singles club on the beach. When word got back to their group, all the women wanted to come to the wedding, so we got married surrounded by strangers. They all dressed up and they bought us a lovely blanket.
The rest of the evening signaled it would be a charmed and magical union. First, everyone at the restaurant stood and clapped as we walked in.
Later, we asked a local where we might listen to music. He drove us to a nightclub on the edge of town and dropped us off. The place had been reserved for a private party, but when they realized we had just been married, they invited us in.
Turns out it was the graduation ceremony for the folkloric ballet of Mexico, so they put on a show for us, just us, that lasted well into the night.
My life has largely been a fiesta ever since, with the usual bits of sadness and pain but more often, unbridled joy, even glee.
Ever since I came crawling back on my hands and knees.
Ellen has moved to the lounge chair. She sighs.
“Life doesn’t get any better than this,” she says.
You can say that again.
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