I just want to share this.
I invite those of you who show up to read this to Court of Love, my Yahoo! group about relationships. *All* relationships.
From The Sweet Potato Queens' Field Guide to Men: Every Man I Love is Either Married, Gay, or Dead, by Jill Conner Browne
You know how Dear Abby or Ann Landers or one of those deals is always running those "how we met" letters? Well, I've never seen one anywhere to beat the story I got from Queen Geneva in Saltillo, Mississippi. It's just about the sweetest thing I've ever heard. See if you don't just tear up reading it.
Geneva and Don lived in Saltillo all their lives. Back in the eighties, Don was a pretty well-to-do fellow in those parts. On New Years' Eve in 1989, however, he walked into a church party in Baldwyn, Mississippi and was moved by something--we may never know what--to commence shooting off not only his mouth but also his 9-millimeter. Apparently he decided right then and there that a girlfriend needed killin'. Fortunately, he didn't succeed in carrying that out, but he did manage to get himself shot, so by and by, he found himself in the Prentiss County jail for a few months, and then they sent him off to Whitfield, the state mental hospital, and then they sent him on up to Memphis to hang out at the Mid-South Hospital for a bit.
After Don had been in Memphis for about a month, who should show up but our Geneva. It seems that Geneva had had a little "spell" and removed a telephone from its usual spot at work, and she was sent away for a little "rest". So here they are in the mental hospital, as Geneva explains, "Don for shootin' a couple people--flesh wounds only--and me for absolutely losin' my mind and rippin' the phone off the wall at the pharmacy where I was employed." Geneva, at the time, was still married to her first husband ("a mean old fart") and she wasn't "looking for no new boyfriend in the nuthouse", but she and Don just sparked to each other. By the time they were released from the hospital, Geneva had decided she was going to leave that first husband, and Don--well, Don wasn't looking real forward to going back to the Prentiss County jail, so they both took their AmEx Golds and headed to Las Vegas. ("Well, what would *you* have done?") They had themselves a fine time, going to shows and rafting down the Colorado River and I don't know what all, but the upshot is this: Don ended up having to give the folks at Parchman Penitentiary about fifteen months, and sweet Geneva went to see him every other Sunday the whole entire time. When he got out, they got married a week later, and they've been happily married ever since.
It all just goes to show you, Geneva says, that there's someone out there for everybody, even if you have to go to the mental hospital to find him. I told her that was an odd turn of events. Most of us feel like we need to go there *after* we've found 'em--but hey, whatever works, and this apparently did with utterly felicitous results, so we're tickled.