Future Mrs. Weaver to bear brunt of alphabetical order

During those quiet moments throughout the day, I occasionally find myself thinking about my wife.

My future wife, that is. Who is she? Does she even exist? And if so, how will she feel about my not-so-secret plan to be married in a neon yellow tuxedo, complete with hat and tails?

The poor girl is going to need the patience of a saint.

Not only will she have, you know, me to deal with, but I have a sneaking suspicion her name is going to come at the front of the Albabet.

I'm sorry, that's a typo. I should have written "alphabet." I don't know what I was thinking.

This present Miss Aabaday, Aanderson, Aalbertson or Bassmaster is probably pretty comfortable with her place whenever something happens in alphabetical order, I'm thinking.

But once and if she changes her last name to Weaver, there's a bit of a rude awakening in store for her.

I can imagine the scene, where we're waiting in line for something like tickets to the big game or the latest concert by Popular 2010s Artist, only to have it announced over the PA system due to much more demand than originally anticipated, said tickets will be dealt out in alphabetical order.

My bride will happily set out to march to the beginning of the line, as has been her custom for much of her life, only to turn and find her happy husband isn't going with her. Instead, he's getting out the collapsible lawn furniture and stoking a fire pit.

"Grab a chair, honey," I'll say, decades of disillusionment coming from always being near the end of the alphabet dripping into my voice. "Now's a good time to brush up on our Russian classic literature."

Then I'll pull out our His and Hers copies of "War and Peace," and for perhaps the first time that day, if not the first time in our marriage, she'll wonder what exactly it is she's gotten herself into.

Not that everybody always goes in alphabetical order. Sometimes, in order to mix things up, the powers in charge will elect to go in reverse alphabetical order.

However, it has been my experience in situations like this that such lines under such circumstances are typically for something unpleasant, like, "Everyone line up from Z to A for booster shots," or "Let's give the latter half of the alphabet a chance to enjoy something first - will the Zwybacks and Zwertys please step forward for their extra helpings of beets and corn dogs."

Shudder. I hate beets and corn dogs.

Those poor Zwybacks and Zwertys. And I thought it was tough being a Weaver - at least in the Ws there's a little bit of hope two tickets for the nosebleed section are still available. The Zwybacks in particular, I'm sure, have gotten so accustomed to being turned away at the box office or being first in line for their booster shots they're terrified to even set foot outside for a social engagement.

Which means maybe instead of having my head turned by Abigail Aabaday and her front of the alphabet naivet/, I should be looking instead at Zinnia Zwerty or Zwyla Zwyback.

After a lifetime of first booster shots and extra beets, a little time in the Ws is sure to seem like a step up.