Oh all right. If I can’t overcome the nerves here, how can I possibly do it in front of the flesh-and-blood Charlie? I’ll just pop a few saxitoxin to give my courage a jumper and . . . So, I’ve got this car, a K-Car, a 1987 Plymouth Reliant (oh the irony), a POS from my stoolie days that is always breaking down. Whenever we drive it anywhere it makes terrible noises—sometimes grinding, or percolatory, or tussive, or explosive, who knows—and Charlie always gets worried and makes me pull over and inspect under the hood. I don’t know the first thing about engines but it makes her feel better to get a diagnosis, so every time when she asks me the same question—“What is that sound?”—I make something up. “That is the sound of the XK-B11 modulator unit pressurizing; nothing to worry about,” I tell her. Or, “That is the sound of the butterfly inserts discharging carbon; we’ll just let them cool down and desalinate for a second.” One time while I was pretending to tinker I noticed that in the engine compartment there is a small plastic enclosure that is just large enough to contain a velvet box. My plan—can you feel it coming?—is to act like we are going on an errand, but secretly I’ll have her bags all packed for a weekend at this getaway spot in Connecticut, and while I’m driving I’ll pull over to investigate a worrisome noise. From the engine bay I’ll extract the ring and walk it around to her side of the car. “Know what that sound is?” I’ll say, shaking the box as if it’s an intransigent component. Then when she gets out to look at it, I’ll say, from one knee, “That is the sound of our future together.” Is that disgusting? Is it repellent in every way? I honestly can’t tell. But it’s what I want to say, and if you aren’t going to have the guts to abide by your gut when you propose, then what good are you?

8

Simon McCord comes to mind. As do Crummy Markovich, Deacon Breedlove, Pituitary Jones, and the biggest bust in decades, according to Retention Sciences Today: Tony “Kong” Mavrogordo and Frankie “Nickels” Bozzuto.

9

I might also have alleged that he “fellates tubes of Chapstick.” I don’t know if he has a lip gloss habit or what, but his mouth always looks like he’s been bobbing for chicken fat or orally stimulating jars of petroleum jelly or something. Not an exaggeration, but not judicious of me to mention, probably.

10

That makes a dent, all right.

11