"Here’s to you, Mrs. Krapperson."

By Michael Angelo

According to American Heritage Dictionary, the primary definition of Love is: A deep affection and warm feeling for another. There are those who pretend to agree with that definition in hopes of selling loads of diamond jewelry and booking wedding halls, and then there are the cynics who think true love, from someone other than our mothers, is simply a farce.



Who could blame the latter group for being such pessimists? Divorce rates are at an all-time high and a detailed history of marriage shows that nuptials were often just an economic solution, especially during colonial times when women were generally shut out of the workforce and men depended on the domestic skills of the opposite sex to maintain their estates.

It wouldn’t be surprising if some marital covenants are still signed out of convenience. After all, most men are not Emeril Lagasse. Modern day benefits include tax breaks, or perhaps we are simply tired of our parents asking for grandchildren, but a troubling number of people settle down because it is socially expected of them. An example would be my buddy, Rex. Eight years ago we had the following conversation.

Rex - Mike. Let’s make the most of our friendship during the next two years.

Me - Why?

Rex - Because when I turn 28, we won’t see much of each other.

Me - Why?

Rex - Because I have to get married by 28.

Me - Why?

Rex - Because I just have to.

Me - Why?

Rex - Shut up.



That was a disturbing dialogue because Rex wasn’t even in a relationship back then. But he still felt it was necessary to set a timetable for something that should occur naturally. Sure enough, Rex met (by "met" I mean randomly chose) the love of his life at a pizzeria just three days after his 28th birthday. Two months after that, he proposed to her on bended knee. Two weeks later, they walked down the aisle as husband and wife. Take a guess at how that union is going.

My apologies for being such a Scrooge toward the concept of true love. But I’m pleased to report that I am starting to view love and marriage in a more positive light thanks to Mrs. Krapp. A few years ago, I worked as an Accounts Payable Administrator. The payroll was so massive that I rarely met any of the employees. One woman on my pay list went by the name of Louise - Louise Krapp. During my first few weeks on the job I thought this was a joke. She must’ve been a dummy entry whose checks would later be voided as everyone had a hearty laugh at my expense. But a closer inspection of the records revealed that the checks were indeed being cashed by a Mrs. L. Krapp. This was astonishing information. It proved that unconditional love was possible. Think about it, you must truly LOVE everything about a man by agreeing to take on his last name which comes out vulgar when mispronounced (I was later told it is pronounced like ‘crop’). Anyone with ulterior motives would go after someone with a different name. Would they not? You absolutely can’t question the loyalty, devotion, and character of a Mrs. Krapp. If you do, you have no soul.

Budweiser used to run a popular ad campaign saluting "real men of genius" such as grocery cart wranglers and Chinese food delivery guys. It’s about time Bud pays tribute to the ladies. There are plenty of beer drinking gals out there. I’ve gotten my ass handed to me by women during many keg stand competitions. The inaugural award should go to all of the Mrs. Krapps out there (it’s safe to assume there is more than one). Hopefully the FCC would allow it, but if it won’t then let me be the first to raise a glass in their honor. Here’s to you, Mrs. Krapp, for changing my perspective on the institutions of love and marriage, and as a reader of mine suggested, please do not name your future daughters "Holly."

BYLINE:

Michael Angelo is a Connecticut based accountant. He also hosts a humor blog that is universally read, assuming that your definition of universal is two Canadian housewives and a schizophrenic who claims to speak telepathically with the Sultan of Brunei. Visit Michael Angelo at www.myspace.com/humorwriter.