Her nickname was Lolli, and she was a juicy sweet woman who dressed inappropriately for this community college language class. She was maybe in her early 30s, and I learned one day that her third marriage was ending.

“Well,” I primly assumed, “I guess you won’t be going there again.”

She looked at me guilelessly, her freckled face open. “Why not?” she asked. “If there’s love, why not? Why would I close myself off to love?”

I don’t think that marrying everyone you love is a wise idea. But the thing I remember the most: she wasn’t mortally wounded. She wasn’t building walls against future intimacy and commitment. She still believed that love was a good thing, even if it only lasted a season or three.

She wasn’t scared.

Lolli, I haven’t thought about you for years, but tonight I raise a glass to you, and the example you give me. I won’t show as much cleavage or belly as you loved to, but in other ways, I’m lowering my defenses.

We are all flawed, and love is a good thing. Mazel tov, my friend.