They all said it would never happen, but against all odds the unthinkable has occurred. No, I’m not talking about the return of the McRib, but rather the impending marriage of my friend Correai Moore.
To those of you who’ve checked this space for my goofdom from the beginning, you may remember Correai as the subject of my very first column (and subsequently the first chapter of my first book). We met while attending Lenoir Community College and both transferred to East Carolina University to finish our degrees. He helped me with biology; I introduced him to the Allman Brothers.
I met the woman who would become The Wife at a young age – 17 to be exact. Even though our courtship led to her being voted “Most Likely To Be Disappointed”, I’m proud to say The Wife and our Tax Deductions 1 and 2 are doing swimmingly. For Correai, though, love has been as elusive as an non-neutered cat at Bob Barker’s house.
On many occasions I tried to help my friend find that special someone. As it turns out, it would have been easier to filet a bank vault with a soft-boiled egg.
Correai dated a bit over the years, but rarely did any relationship look like it would lead to a group of his friends throwing rice at him as he and his betrothed exited the church.
“You don’t want to be the old dad at the Little League game,” I’d tell him. “If your kid hits a home run you’ll have to pop a vitamin just to manage 30-seconds of cheering.”
At times it seemed that I was more concerned with him finding Mrs. Right than he was.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he’d say. “I go out on dates all the time but nothing seems to work out.”
Over the last four years whenever he’d call, I’d answer the phone thusly: “Hello have you met anyone yet?”. Anytime it seemed like love might be on the bloom I’d tell The Wife, “he’s been out with somebody three times!”. The Wife, however, was smart enough to remain skeptical until rings had been purchased and invitations mailed.
Up until a couple of years ago I was resigned to the fact that Correai would remain a bachelor for life. He’d spend his twilight years attending Comic Cons and arguing with me over whether or not Harrison Ford’s character in Blade Runner was a replicant – which of course he was.
Then, all of a sudden he started talking about this woman named Reah. I was cautious at first because my hopes had been dashed before, but Reah kept coming up in our conversations.
“Reah is really great,” Correai said. “She might be the one, dude.”
“Is Reah a real girl or some app you’ve downloaded to your phone?” I asked.
“YES, she is real!” he said.
The situation escalated when Correai came to Kinston to visit his mother. He brought Reah with him and they stopped by our house for a visit.
“So you do exist,” I said. “So what you make of our Correai?”
“He’s very sweet,” she said. “I really enjoy his company.”
“I don’t know what he has on you, but we can get you out of this,” I said. “We can get Amnesty International involved. I’ll make a few calls.”
Against my advice, Reah said yes when Correai popped the question last week.
All kidding aside I’m very happy for both of them. I’m already thinking of ways to embarrass them during the wedding – although the woman is marrying Correai, so her threshold for embarrassment is obviously difficult to reach.
Jon Dawson’s books available at www.jondawson.com.