She’s marrying a tennis pro. Yes—that one. Now before you laugh, I want to say that I’ve met this person and he isn’t as arrogant as you might think—not, say, a John McEnroe type. Oh, he’s very sure of himself, true, but in a—healthy sort of way. The wedding is next week. I think they invited about 700 people. That of course doesn’t include all the onlookers that’ll be hovering just outside the club, hoping to get a glimpse of Sir You-Know-Who. I already picked out the wedding present. The problem is, I bought it a year ago. This was when I thought she was going to marry that pro golfer. Yes, that one!! I TOLD you. But I guess they called it quits. So I now I have this perfectly fine golf gift sitting in the garage, getting stale, and no one to give it to. Now I have to go and buy something else—such as what, a tennis racket? Sneakers? Maybe I should get something for HER. If my ex were around, I’m sure she would write out a list of a thousand different items, but right now I’m woman-less. I’m seriously thinking of asking my mother in the nursing pavilion. I can just hear our conversation now. “Hey, Ma, did you hear, Sheila’s getting married!” “I know, I know…” “What do you think I should get them?” “You should get them something practical, like a steamer, or a blender. Or a cookie cutter, or—“ And on and on she would go. Well, it’s better than no one.