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INSTANT HONEYMOON

We'd been courting four years. Nita was a nervous wreck. There were health

problems. Insecurities. Doubts on both sides. We had both been married before.

We weren't going to roll the dice like over-amped teenagers. I questioned the

logic of taking this enormous leap. I felt like I was walking into a windmill.

I was moving eight-hundred miles from L.A., leaving my life's work, my

friends, and the comfort of familiar surroundings. There was only one reality: we

loved each other.

Despite an anguished week of stress and uncertainty, the marriage went

beautifully. Nita smiled through the stress but the big worries were behind us. We

thought.

I was in charge of the honeymoon. Our first conflict surprised us. "How

could it be?" I asked myself. We knew each other perfectly. We were mature, fun,

decent people. But those qualities did not forgive a secret I held. Hadn't I

mentioned this to her? I snored.

Not distant, even-tempo'd lawn mower-snoring. No, this was a roaring

locomotive that rattled teeth and sucked oxygen from the room. My first indication

that things were not going well was probably the sobbing. When I emerged from my

coma-like stupor I turned to see Nita in tears, distraught that she had married

heavy machinery usually found in gravel pits. I grabbed blankets and shuffled

bleary-eyed to a well-upholstered chair by the window where I forced myself not

to sleep. But somewhere in the night the train left the station again and Nita

shivered alone in bed, her back to me, crying herself to sleep. But all would be

well in the morning because we were taking the plane to Boston. Martha's Vineyard

would fix everything. At $400 a night I figured I couldn't go wrong.

The Summer of 06 included one of the worst rainfalls to hit New England in

decades. And the downpour had expanded down the entire East Coast. We watched the

Weather Channel tell us the rain would continue. If we cancelled the Vineyard,

where could we go? New York was socked in. Florida offered no hope. We finally

scotched New England, canceling the hotel and the flight. Sunday morning in a

wedding suite, exhausted, ready to check out, with nowhere to go. We wracked our

brains. No destination was excluded: Los Angeles, Carmel, San Francisco, Hawaii.

Honeymoons are not supposed to be impromptu, but here we were, staring at each

other, the clock ticking and expectations evaporating.

So we ended up driving to Las Vegas.

I'm sure Sin City is the perfect spot for a honeymoon. If you have an IQ of

twelve, no imagination,

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