Our calendars were rivers br Swollen with wedding cakes. br We slept through tunes like All Of Me br Or “All The Cheese, ” our drummer smirked. br But I knew I could never walk. br Mrs. Wing my junior high music teacher br Would appear before me as an apparition, br Breaking her baton on my stand, br Demanding to know what I was doing br Or even thinking of doing. br I couldn’t imagine br Telling her I can’t take it anymore br br Until finally I did, br Because at some point you can’t face br One more bride who doesn’t care who you are - br It just has to be perfect, br And one day your fingers br Don’t want to be told what to do, br And one day you find the rest of the world br Is out by the pool drinking banana daiquiris br While you’re bent over the newfangled barbeque br Trying to figure out how to get the dam thing started br br Now you ask if I regret it. br You want to know if I ever listen to the CD. br I tell you it is like a toy ship traveling sideways br After its shove onto the pond. br It’s Chinese food that leaves you hungry br But not for more Chinese food. br It’s an old lover’s answering machine greeting br That never changes but sometimes you call it anyway br Just to hear her voice.