Eight short weeks had passed since Monika and I first met, and already, we knew that we’d be lovebirds forever.  So, to make it official, we picked a date and place to wed, had a nice elderly couple print us some pretty invitations, and mailed them out, sixteen years ago to this day:

Back then, I was a grad student at Cal, and between the research, beer, beach, and my abysmal phone skills, most of my distant friends and relatives hadn’t talked with me since Christmas.  So, that unexpected cream-colored envelope in the mailbox… what a surprise!  Upon its arrival, matchmaker kin lit up with grins, and come sundown, many a nubile woman wept herself to sleep.  Or, the first part, at least.

Alas, our affections soon soured, and shortly thereafter, we nixed the April 1st nuptials.  At Monika’s core, concealed by her many charms, lurked the fundamental incompatibility that had split us apart.

“What was it?” everyone asked.  Was she in love with someone else?  No.  Schizophrenic?  No.  Lesbian?  No.  A cat person?  No.  Completely imaginary?  Bing bing bing bing Yes!

Before I go on, let me once again apologize to anyone who I inadvertently failed to notify about the “all made up” part – until they landed in Jackson Hole for the wedding.  Sorry, my bad, and I hope that you enjoyed the skiing.

But primarily, I mention my silly little hoax in the hopes that it’ll inspire someone to get out there on April Fools’ Day and do ’em proud.  After all, you can’t pull a practical joke when you’re “dead” – without a plan, impeccably-honed execution, and a lifelike wax self-replica!

Years later, I met a flawless woman, even more lovely than my hypothetical Monika, to whom I’m now blissfuly married.  Really!