Chiquita, as many of you know, has been my wingman for more than a decade now. Traditionally, the wingman flies the support plane when you’re in dangerous territory. There is also your dating wingman who helps you in the search and destroy scene that is modern romance; your dating wingman will talk you up, make you the center of attention. Last but not least, your social wingman is there to support your wildest schemes, keep the mingling going at your parties and, to blatantly steal a line, help you be all that you can be. Chiquita and I have never flown in a war zone, but she has certainly been my wingman in every other situation you can think of over the years, and a darn fine one at that.
At my social functions, Chiquita runs an awesome backup to my somewhat rude social graces. She’ll keep an eye on the music, keep a lookout on the food and keep the conversation going, having memorized a tidbit or two about all my guests. At a bar, if I’ve thrown myself into some dancing, flailing frenzy, Chiquita is at the ready with water so I don’t dehydrate and die. In day to day life, she nudges and nags so that I’m not letting opportunities pass me by. She is the Gayle to my Oprah, the Cal Naughton to my Ricky Bobby.
Right now, there’s something on my mind that I need to do. Chiquita is aware of the situation and has called and emailed me a variety of options to help me with the outcome. Hell, if I’d let her, she’d do this one thing for me just to get it over with so we could move on to actually coordinating the end result. In the meantime, Chiquita’s got my back. She’s talking me up. She has me convinced I can conquer the world, and with a good wingman, I believe I can.
So raise a glass, friends…I shall raise my iced green tea with honey and a dash o’ mint…and we will toast our wingmen. Cheers!