Well, 9 years ago, today, I married the big lug in Las Vegas.

As a symbol of our enduring love and commitment, he went out of town for work yesterday and won't be back till midnight or later tonight. I guess that's no worse than last year when I jumped ship to go spend the night with Paul McCartney. Or three years before that, when I sent him back to Oklahoma and stayed in California because I didn't want to go home that early and he had to be back for work.

Romantics, we're not.

We do plan to get a babysitter in the next week or so and go up to one of the big, fancy new casinos they've built around here and spend an evening being irresponsible. That's more our scene than flowers and jewelry and long, romantic dinners. Shovel down the food as quickly as possible and bring on the gambling, I say. The demon liquor won't be involved this year, my present condition taken into consideration. 'Tis probably just as well; one vice at a time is enough for two old married farts like us.

Happy anniversary to us, at any rate!