Thirty minus twenty equals 10
"Well, how long has Elvis been dead?" I coolly reply. And here's the best part: I'm at a party where everybody knows the answer to this question. No snots who try to patronizingly say, "I'm not really into Elvis or any of that kitschy pop culture stuff." No people for whom music is wallpaper that don't remember what they were doing when they heard that the King Was Gone. No, just a bunch of people thinking the math out loud: "Uh, August 16, 1977, uh, … that's ten twenty, Uh, 30 years. Elvis has been dead 30 years."
"Well that makes this Number 10 for us then," I reply, completing my portion of the memory formula.
We purposely chose to get married on the 20th Anniversay of the Death of Elvis Aron Presley so that when we're old and forgetful, we'll be watching TV and suddenly there will be a plethora of Elvis movies, and we'll both think to ourselves, "Oh, man, there's a ton of Elvis movies on, and this isn't January, so it's not Elvis' birthday. Hmmm, that must mean I'd better run out to Kohl's and get some kind of gift."
And already, it's working. We're channel surfing during one of those dreary rainy days we had last week, and I'm watching "Elvis and Me" (with the WORST Elvis I've ever seen. Remember, he's the one about whom David Letterman said: "I look more like Elvis than that guy.") We're right up to the part where teenage 'Cilla comes home from Vegas looking like some ravaged old showgirl and her stepdad angrily mutters, "That does it. I never want to hear the name Elvis Presley ever again." Brian says, "Hey, that reminds me, I should probably make dinner reservations somewhere."
Love you too, hon.