Ode to Deans
Don’t you wish you knew Deans?
Dena fa fina fee fi fo fafina da Dena! This is how I enjoy greeting you Dena. For what now, a decade? I’ve said hi and distorted your name. Do you let anyone else call you Deans? Do you know I even call another friend Sabeans in a take on your nickname? Yeah, Deans you’re one of my longest-lasting friends, from why back – the housing office of UCF, right?
If my hazy memory serves me correct, you were there looking in the “I need a room” book right after I added a page, and I was nose-deep in the “I need a housemate” book you passed me. Wow, how antiquated housemate hunting was back in the day – pre Craigslist.com. You know our kids, if we ever have them, will never believe that.
Those college years were so fun. I can remember you bailing me out of logistical nightmares with all the women I was dating and how I gave you heads-up on the guys you liked. Ah, the nights I held your hair while you puked and you bringing me soup when I was sick.
Remember that surf trip to Costa Rica? You the lone girl and I, as your friend, elevated to joe-cool guy. If only you’d sent me one of your girlfriends as payback for the hotties I hooked you up with. I don’t think Theresa counts.
Then our sojourns every year or so to the other’s abode, it’s always fun to have a friend who knows how I love to go on hype deflation tours. Now it’s time for you to tour my American home, Smoke Free DC, where I’m happy to play kickball on the National Mall. You’ll love it, Dupont Circle of life and all. And yes, bring your Mom too, Mama Deans is always welcome!
Yeah, Deans maybe I miss ya, maybe I wish you were in my life more. Maybe this is my Ode to Deans.