I was with her in a Manhattan restaurant, named August.
The kind of restaurant with beautiful girls...
and martinis made with the vodka of your choice and...a twist.
She sipped her drink. And then she told me.
He asked me, she said. He asked me to marry him.
Oh, I replied. Oh!
You see they had already been together, lived together, for 12 years.
Her ring twinkled like a star -- like a star so very close in the sky.
The waitress brought us the menus. My friend took her time before she ordered.
Mussels, perfectly broken open, the tender insides exposed. Fresh greens, just wilted. Toast, so comforting.
Of course. Of course.
I wondered then what it would be like to marry someone you had already been with for 12 years. Past the time of the racing heart, past the time of the first and second and 497th passionate kiss.
After the blush had worn off and there you were, with no make up. And he knew you, really. And you knew him, really. And there was no point in pretending. No point at all.
To marry then, yes, to marry then... not in the Spring of your relationship
but in the August. 
PS Would love to hear about your August or non-August wedding.
PPS New beautiful stock of Moroccan Beni Ouarain carpets in my shop, Red Thread Souk.
