"Hello?" "IS THIS WINKY-DINK?"

So first of all, I'm engaged. Here's the rock:

I am 100% certain that sign behind him does not say "DORK."
Don't hurt me, Dwayne.

And here's the ring:


And here's my lovely fiancee's finger:

More on this to come. Also: my thumb is sans stitches times four. It looked pretty gnarly at first and I couldn't use it too well, but by today we're almost back to ramming speed. What's more important to make note of at the present time is, I just received a call for Winky-Dink. Allow me to explain.

Every so often, a random number in the 804 area code calls my cellphone. Being that I don't know who it is, I pick up and simply say "Hello." Invariably, a woman who sounds like she's been drinking scotch through a lit Marlboro rasps into the phone, "IS THIS WINKY-DINK?" I never think to ask the obvious question: who is Winky-Dink? I mean, think about that. There can't be more than one man named Winky-Dink in all of history and here he is! In my hometown and my appointed century! And yet I'm too stunned to take advantage of this rare opportunity. I say no, this is not Winky-Dink, and she mutters about how he gave that number to her, says sorry, and hangs up.

First thoughts that come to mind are, is this a prank call? And I realize that no one who has my number A. is smooth enough to prank call me, B. wants to prank call me, or C. would conceivably think of asking for Winky-Dink. And hell, it's just too non-provocative - it has to be real. Second thought comes to mind is, Winky-Dink is a stone-cold playa. A straight-dope silver fox. He's got this woman calling him constantly! Damn. I googled him, but he's nowhere to be found, a man whose legend is too ancient for the callow intertubes.

Like the ghost, he is everywhere - and nowhere. Women want him.

Well, today I look down at my phone during clinic and see an unnamed 804 number. Now, the Winky-Dink cold-call has been a little more rare lately, and I've had a couple wrongs that were just random strangers, not looking for ol' WD. And I know because I ask every time, "By chance, were you looking for Winky-Dink?" And the past few times, the answer was a disappointing "No..." Yet I persevere.

But a new twist arises: today when I call the number back, a man barks "'yello!" into the phone. Wow, I think, this adds a whole new dimension to the dashing mystique of Winky-Dink. I'm afraid to ask... but I must. "Just out of curiosity," I begin. "Were you looking for Winky-Dink?"

"Well yeah!" comes the enthusiastic reply.

What luck! Another link in the chronicle! But again, I was too flustered by this invisible man, this myth whose eerie hand reaches across e'en the Mason-Dixon line that I forgot to ask who the living hell is Winky-Dink? Bear with me - when you meet Bigfoot at the Burger King, you kind of forget to ask what flavor milkshake he's sippin'. Even more unfortunately, the man went on to say that Winky-Dink's son (that's right, there is son of Winky-Dink, who is begat of Winky-Dink) gave him the number, and he'll have to tell that son to correct his error. Alas, no more will I get wrong numbers, looking for the man, the myth, the Dink-to-the-Wink.

So it would seems that here ends the tale of Winky-Dink, cellphone ghost, charmer of women and sire of sons. But I can't let it go, either. I have to know, have to ask the burning question. Tonight, I'm calling that guy back.

And he is going to find Winky-Dink for me.