MY FIRST TWO marriages failed, and maybe it was because of how I proposed to those wives. I don’t recall how I did it the first time though I do remember why. That was over half a century ago. But I do remember how I did it the second time.
We were in a restaurant on Westheimer Boulevard in Houston. I did not get down on one knee. I did not have a ring lurking in a champagne flute. There was no music. The waiters did not sing ‘O Sole Mio. I told her we should get married so she could get on my employer-provided medical insurance. She had no coverage.
She swooned. I was such a romantic guy.
We had been living together at that point for seven years.
Perhaps if ObamaCare had existed, we never would have wed, and I would have been spared lots of pain, grief and expense.
By the third time, I had learned, matured, wised up and sobered up.
I did get down on my knee, and I did have a ring. And where did I do it? Where these two pre-Hispanic pyramids join, right there at their base. You see it early in the video, the V between the two structures. That’s where it happened about 18 years ago.
And medical insurance had nothing to do with it.