Reason I Love my Wife, Number 377

So there's this wine tasting that Ruthie and I have been going to most Friday nights for about two years. And every Friday night for two years we've talked with Larry and Carmen and Ralph, who work there. Wonderful people all and dissimilar enough that you 'd never mistake any of them for any of the rest of them. Carmen is a sweet lady who brought Ruthie fancy water to drink while she was pregnant and Larry and Ralph help us discover which wines we like. Larry especially is the kind of guy I can go to and say, "Larry, I liked blah, blah, blah last week, but not the other one." And he'll make a suggestion and Life is good.

Except that, after two years, I've taken to calling him "Ralph."

For no reason. After two years without a hitch I now regularly look him in the eye and say, "Thanks Ralph." And then something like, "Dammit!"

And as we pulled out of the parking lot tonight, Ruthie and I -- I having yet again called Larry "Ralph" -- I said, "Why can't I call him the right name? I never used to have any trouble; now it's mental or something."

And my Beloved said, "You're Chuck Knoblauch."

And I love her so.