The best export from the Garden State

Slightly more uplifting than yesterday's post, I promise.

One day in high school, I complained to my friend Ken about the paucity of dates occupying my spare time. Seriously. Michael Jackson got more baby-sitting offers than I got dates.

Already used to my near-daily lament, Ken, ever the optimist, would tell me, "There's someone out there for everybody."

"Yeah," I said, "and with my luck, she's on the other side of the country now."

"Could be."

"I scarcely see how that's helping me now."

And while I went on to recite the usual litany of gripes to my pal in sunny California, my wife-to-be was attending high school in South Jersey.

Okay, technically, she was probably already home, what with the time difference, but that's not really important.

What matters is that, despite my pessimism, I was right.

I just had to wait another 7 or 8 years to meet her. Had I known that then, I might not have been so damned moody.

All right, maybe not all the time.