On Saturday, October 11, 1997, I was invited by Malcolm to a soiree in honor of his visiting fiancee.  Since I was the only representative from his undergrad-era, I feel it is my sacred duty to describe my first impressions of Laura.
     My first view of Laura came as I raced an impending cloudburst to gain shelter under the house porch.  Even through the rain I could already tell that she's prettier than most other Chernobyl mail-order brides. Malcolm stood glowing at her side while she idly scratched at fleabites and energetically levered a toothpick against a piece of gristle lodged nearly out of reach inside her left jowl.  Whenever Malcolm put his arm halfway around her, she affectionately grumbled not unlike an amorous rhino, and the scene was more heart-warming than anything I've seen on the TV show "Is That Legal In Iran?".
     "Beach!" Malcolm hollered good-naturedly upon seeing me.
     At once, Laura spat on both palms, gripped me by the shoulders, and heaved me into the air.
     "NO Laura!  Not 'Bench'.  Please don't benchpress Beach."
     After a mere seven seconds, Laura recognized her linguistic misinterpretation and released me from her vice-like hold.  Once I had tumbled to the porch boards, Malcolm warmly rewarded her with a pat on the Mohawk and a handful of animal crackers.  As Laura rhythmically smacked her lips in appreciation of the crackers, I regained my feet, and Malcolm filled me in on her background.
     "Laura grew up in New York--her father runs a firm which specializes in cement, financial consulting services, and hazardous waste disposal."
     At the word "disposal", several husky men in stylish dark suits and sunglasses appeared out of nowhere with questioning looks on their mugs, and then apparently satisfied they were not needed, they melted back into the crowd.  I could still tell they were present, however, by the occasional duets of "I don't have a problem.  Do youse have a problem?" drifting from inside the house.
     Malcolm continued, "Her father read a paper I published on the Mexican government's inability to protect the coast of Baja California against illegal dumping of highly toxic substances.  He thought the paper was very insightful and wanted to meet me to tell me I was doing a great service by publishing it, and to inquire if I knew the identity of any of the perpetrators of this terrible injustice.  Originally he had promised to take me fishing, but he brought his daughter along on the trip and we hit it off at first sight, so he canceled the fishing plans to let me go out with Laura."
     The smacking sounds had ceased.  I looked up to see Laura with her mouth hinged wide open, and an expectant look on her face.  Malcolm shoveled another handful of animal crackers down her gullet, and the smacking resumed.
     At that point some more guests arrived, and engaged the couple in a discussion on what I guess was biochemistry    I drifted through the party looking to start a conversation, but soon called it a night.

    Now, as you should have guessed, my previous descriptions of Laura are pure fiction.  I was bold enough to have some fun because in truth she is a bright, charming, slim, raven-haired beauty with dark smoldering eyes, and she and Malcolm make a great couple.  Congratulations Malcolm and Laura, and I hope you'll forgive my artistic twisting of Malcolm's tail.  (I also hope everyone will forgive my re-use of the tired old stereotype of New York Italians as being connected with shady dealings, but if any tough guy wants to SPEAK to me about it, they can look me up in the book--B-I-C-C-I, John Bicci--and come tell me to my face!)