Bruce was a lieutenant in the navy, and he lived with four bachelor roommates. They’d been out to sea for six months and were back for six months. A guy could save up a lot of money in six months, so Bruce was able to buy a silver Jaguar xke convertible. He nicknamed it his Babe Mobile.
The guys decided to throw a party and they invited the entire class at Connecticut College for Women. They mixed the drinks in a fifty-five gallon drum. The girls loved the navy bachelors.
The parties came and went, the girls did too, but none of them caught Bruce’s eye. He was still in party mode and didn’t want anything serious until . . .
Bruce and his roommates were having an orphan Thanksgiving for anyone that didn’t have a place to go. Thirty people were there or on their way over. Bruce had a counter filled with veggies but no time to make the salad. He had his hands full with the turkey and side dishes.
“Hey, Pam, could you make a salad?” he asked a cute gal hanging around, waiting for dinner.
“Uh . . .” Pam said.
“Well, could you, please?” Bruce asked.
Pam burst into tears. As it turned out her dad owned half of Columbus, Ohio, and she’d never prepared anything in a kitchen, ever. She didn’t know how to make a salad.
Then another gal stepped up. “I can make one.”
Thanks, doll,” Bruce said.
“It’s Karen,” she said.
Bruce pointed Karen to the big bowl on the counter next to the veggies.
That was the beginning of the end for Bruce’s bachelor days. Karen thought a guy who could put on a Thanksgiving dinner was a good catch. Plus, when he went to sea, somebody had to look after his Jaguar and maybe get to drive it.
Bruce and Karen dated for two and half years with this arrangement. He finally told her/asked her if they should make it legal.
Couldda Wouldda Didda
Bruce is still cooking, and Karen is still making salad after forty-eight years of marriage. And as for the Babe Mobile, it’s long gone. Bruce now drives a Honda Accord.