Out of the blue the other day I got an email from my old upstairs neighbor - someone I haven't seen in almost three years.
He and I both live in the same neighborhood, just north of where we used to live. And so, he said, he's seen someone he thought was me on the street corner several times, and do I pass by there? Not to imply that I loitered on street corners.
I replied that in fact, I do skulk on that very corner, and if he's seen a disheveled blonde sweating profusely and tapping her foot waiting for the light to change, then he's seen me on my way to work.
Which firmly established that it was me he'd seen. And so we had lunch.
He's just recently gotten married, to someone he met shortly before I met Nick. He and I went out a couple times that summer - now four years ago. When thinking about this post, I looked back through my archives to see what I'd written, if anything, about him during that Summer of Deepest Darkest Despair.
And it was this missive about warthogs and unicorns. It came from a very terrible, hopeless place of utter hopelessness and pointlessness and pointless hopelessness.
But in the end, Warthog Theory turned out to be right, and I meet my very own warthog - no offense, Nick. And no implication that you're graceless or grunty.
Because actually, if you were, you'd most certainly have been meant for someone else. And I'm sure the two of you would be very happy. And hopefully I'd have met someone who suited me just as well.
This is not going anywhere that I expected it to. So I'll stop now and just say boy, am I glad things worked out the way they did and also, oh, thank God.