the rose of kiev

Dave drove me to work a few mornings ago. I was ready to go ten minutes before we had to leave, so Dave asked me to run downstairs and retrieve the load in the dryer. I came up with an armful of an outfit he had washed in a rush after he spilled black oil down his left pantleg. I relocked the basement door and came upstairs; he only wanted the jeans. Dave works in a machine shop that uses machines like this lathe. Working with metal in this capacity has the same perils of wood-working - sawdust and wood chips - except that the chips are metal instead of wood. So as Dave shoved on his pants, he grumbled, "I hate wearing shorts to work. I always get metal chips in my shoes." "Well, that's no good," I replied. "Yesterday one fell down the back of my pants." I began to laugh. "That's terrible!" I exclaimed. "Yes, yes it is," he said as he tightened his belt.

This is Claire and her soon-to-be-husband Alan. Claire is one of my best friends and was my maid of honor. Her wedding is four days from today. And for the last several months I've been convinced that her wedding day will mark the end of our friendship. No, really. My paranoia is totally reasonable. Let me explain. The year before Dave and I got married, two of my best friends got engaged. One was my roommate, one was a friend from high school. I was convinced I'd be a bridesmaid in both of their weddings. And the following June, I sat in the audience for both of those weddings. Since they've been married, I had some tea with my roommate, I had lunch with my high school friend, and I haven't spent time with either of them since. That June was a difficult month for me. I phoned Claire bawling, asking between sobs, "Am I a bad friend? It *hic* must be something wrong *hic* with meeee!" She tenderly assured me that I am a good friend. 2 years later, Claire is, as...