If Tony Micelli were my Best Friend…

It Tony were my best friend, we’d talk about his days as a 2nd baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals and just how heartbreaking it must have been to go from a Major League Baseball player to a housekeeper in Connecticut. He would tell me that life can throw you some curveballs sometimes. I’d enjoy his timely baseball analogy and nod in agreement. Life can be tricky.

While noshing on Tony’s homemade veal sandwich we’d compare secrets in removing common and uncommon household stains and as always, Tony would know far too many housekeeping secrets. Is there anything he’s not good at? What a swell bestie Tony is.

Perhaps over a few beers I’d ask him just how bad things got between him and Angela when he took the teaching job in Iowa and if, in the end, it was worth it.

I might inquire if he had any nude photos of Mona hidden away that I could take a peek at or just how much he misses his blue van. That Mona was smoking hot and that van was super classic. Two old beauties that I wish could last forever.

“Has Jonathan come out of the closet yet?” I’d ask at Billy’s wedding.  Tony would probably laugh and say, “No comment.” He usually says the right things.

I’d probably get drunk one time and tell him he could do better than Angela and that he should go after Samantha. “She’s a hottie and has a nice rack,” I’d confide only remembering that Samantha is his daughter after he sent me reeling with a powerful right jab. “Don’t pretend you never thought about it, Tony!” I would yell angrily as I crawled away, pissing myself in terror. We would never speak again. You’d think Tony would understand that mistakes happen. After all, he did slide into home that one time and was out by a mile. What was he thinking? What a jackass.

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