Becky and BJan met at BYU and fell in love. They were both much less round in the ‘80s. Becky, in fact, was almost ravishing. While sorting old files one day I happened upon a photograph of the happy couple from their newly-wed days. Dark and coldly attractive, her past figure shocked me as much as I am sure it now haunts her.
Becky had a head for business that complimented her husband’s expertise and general lack of common sense. Together, they were unstoppable—or at least would have been in a state that cared more for interior fineries than it does for green lawns and a day at the lake, or shoveled driveways and ski slopes. As it was, they did well enough to eat out two meals a day, every day, and employ the most homosexual heterosexual secretary I had ever met (Todd—they’re all Todds, aren’t they?), an illegal immigrant from the Dominican Republic (José), and a poor college student who lived in his parents’ basement and spent more money on records than all other expenses put together (me).
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