Nice to meet you, Adolph.

There was a day, oh, I don't know, a million years ago. Autumn. My closest, best friend Amber told me she liked this guy where she worked. She said his name was Adolph, but said nothing else. I imagined a bald man wearing a trench coat, because frankly, people, I'm not all that creative. I heard nothing else of him for weeks, it seems, because I was wrapped up in the beginning of my own new relationship, in that place where someone could scream into your ear for hours and you wouldn't notice because, ahhhh, you're in love.

Suddenly it's Christmas and we're all over at Adolph's funky little apartment and the light rail hasn't yet begun to run, but there's the track outside. My younger sister brings empanadas from Fiesta. Brian, my love, made a quiche. We meet Adolph, who is so far from being bald that I can't imagine anyone being unbalder. Nor is he wearing a trenchcoat. In fact, he's jovial. And his apartment is funky, reeking of bachelor-hood and arty tastes. Immediately we are not put off, which is good because if you're immediately put off by the best friend's new boyfriend, you're sort of awkwardly quiet until they break up, and that could be a while off. Except for the actual "yums," which we didn't realize then was just Adolph's natural response to any kind of food. We now find this entirely endearing.

I remember very little else from that day, probably due to the mimosas. But here we are, a million years later, and my little Amber is getting married to your little Adolph. And I'm posting to your group blog in an attempt to blend these cultures.

Hello everyone, I am Sara.