I come clean about my wedding.

Okay. So it’s time to quit fooling around. My niece Daisy, never one to shy away from exposing falsehood, called me on the phone after she read yesterday’s post and put me in my place.

“Uncle Max, it’s Daisy. Your niece.”

“As opposed to Daisy, my 150-pound Rottweiler?”

“Funny. Look, it’s time for you to put down your crack pipe and tell the truth. Your story was cute, but totally bogus. You’d better clean up your act or no one will believe you when you actually are serious about something. You’re a journalist—you should know this.”

Daisy’s right. I need to come clean. Winnie and I did get married, but not in the way I described yesterday.

I did take her to a restaurant—sort of. It was a little take-out taco joint and we ate our food while sitting on the curb looking out on the street. We did stroll by a body of water, but it was the lower end of Fifth Street where a water main had broken. There clearly was that moment when my love for her bubbled to the surface and I turned to her to ask her to spend the rest of her life with me. She looked deeply into my eyes and spoke gently:

“You have some cilantro on your front tooth.”

I picked it out and re-asked the question. She said yes, and we set out to make our plan. Father Gene actually didn’t conduct our ceremony since neither one of us is Catholic and we had decided to get married right away. We got married at City Hall, and Father Gene came as the witness. But he hosted a wedding party for us at his rectory, and we had a great time. I took Winnie out to meet my parents, and they were happy for us and not entirely disappointed that they had not made the trek to our wedding. They don’t have TIVO, so they don’t like to miss their shows.

It’s true that The Forb and Limerick Bill paid for our trip to Montana. But it was at the Hotel Montana in a town fifty miles from here. We were there for two days rather than two months. The Forb said that, because it’s an election year, I can pay him back by listening to his deeply informed views about American politics. I can hardly wait.

It’s almost true about my job. I asked for the new position, and they’re still thinking about it. I moved into Winnie’s place, since it doesn’t require sandblasting prior to habitation.

Okay, so I made up the first story. It was a good one, and the one I would have chosen had I been able. But the true part is that Winnie and I are married, and Life at the End of Time will take a different turn.