You need to be warned. On the next page, you'll find color combinations even weirder than this one, perhaps even the moment you first pass through the link. There will be Winnie-the-Pooh sites. There will be lists of best friends, all with cute nicknames. There will be dolphins. There will -- be strong, now -- be flowers. Many flowers. And little animated GIFs that should have names like Pookie and Pun'kin and Peaches and Patches, but don't.

This is because my wife is cute. Now, she's also beautiful, witty, wise, and wonderful, with a brilliant head on her shoulders and a poetic soul checked only by a relentlessly logical and stubborn mind. She's very sexy, very kind, and more creative than you'd ever expect of a former engineering major; the two of us just painted her computer a bright lavender (either the sign of an insane mind or of artistic genius, although I haven't decided which). She likes ice cream, massages (especially with body lotions), big pillows, people and the history of people, Celtic art and fairies, Catz, clever screensavers, flowery poetry, sickening lemming events like football games and pep rallies, cheese and sweets and well-done punk music, books and red roses and on-line greeting cards and any kind of rickety wooden bridge over a creek somewhere.

She won't tell you most of this on her page, because she's shy and she has an image to maintain. She admits to being cute, but she won't admit to being wonderful. Christy is, though, and my life has been better for meeting her.

Speaking of which, we met on-line at a silly little site called I don't know if it's even still around, but she stumbled across my poetry and thought she wouldn't mind talking to me, so she dropped me an E-mail. One thing led to another, and I learned in our first conversation that she'd been so sheltered that, even by the age of 18, she'd never been kissed. I offered to drive the three hours down to Champaign to correct the situation -- and although I don't think she quite believed me, I went through with it. One game of cards that night turned into several, and by the time I leaned forward and kissed her (as she trembled and arched back and finally figured hey, what the heck), the whole thing was pretty much fait accompli. I've loved her ever since, and probably always will.

Anyway, here's her page. I'll let her speak for herself. Finally.

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