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By Rebecca Wells

Temporary insanity is the only reason my feeble brain can come up with for you to 'postpone' -- whatever the hell that means - your weding to Connor McGill. In case you have forgotten, my little bonbon, we are talking about a man who is your equal in every area - physchologically, professionally, spiritually, and -- if my memory serves me correctly, and I believe it does - sexually. I seem to recall the way you trembled in his presence for an entire six moths before you would admit you even liked him. But old Uncle Wade was not fooled. Why? Because Uncle Wade has known you for a long time, and has witnessed you go through enough men to make up not one but two rugby teams. I wrung out your hankies when you ended up in tears over at least a third of those characters, some of whom I would describe as, if not completely Neanderthal, then at least lacking in, shall we say, a certain sangfroid. I do not think it is open for debate when I observe that not one of those men treated you with one ounce of love and respect Connor does.