I don’t know why, but there was something funny about my husband, 37, from the very beginning.
We had scored high marks with each other on the small-talk portion of our first date, and as we sat down with our Cokes and popcorn to watch Jeremiah Johnson, it seemed the second part of the date would be a piece of cake.
I mean, how hard was it going to be for me to sit there and watch Robert Redford ride around on horseback without anything going wrong.
Ah . . . but pieces of cake can be deceiving and when a sudden on-screen gunshot parted Robert’s beautiful tresses, I jumped two feet out of my seat — spilling my Coke on the lady in front of me – causing 37 to laugh out loud!
After the movie, 37 took me home, and we promised to see each other soon. “Soon” turned out to be three minutes later when 37′s car wouldn’t start, and he asked me to give him a ride home.
“Sure, no problem,” I said, and he followed me out to the street where I pushed my 1959 Studebaker Lark Deluxe – with no reverse – out of its parking space and fired it up.
“Nice car,” 37 observed. “Is there something wrong with the transmission or was reverse an optional feature?”
“You’d be surprised how little you have to use reverse if you just plan ahead,” I said. And we rode for a while mesmerized by the romantic sputter of the moth-eaten muffler.
Suddenly 37 announced, “Turn right here!”
“Sure, ” I replied and began working the signal stick up and down in an effort to simulate a working blinker.
“Why are you doing that?” 37 questioned, but quickly forgot his question when I took the corner a tad bit too fast and 37′s door flew open.
“I’m sorry, I forgot to warn you that door doesn’t stay closed unless you lock it.”
I pushed the pedal to the metal to keep the motor running and the muffler purred like a thousand-pound kitten with defective voice box.
“I think your muffler just sprung another leak,” 37 laughed.
My irrepressible Studebaker continued its comedy routine (it was on a roll so to speak) and by the time we reached his place, we were in stitches.
I’m not sure if that was the exact moment we fell in love, but as the more-than-likely light-of-my- life pushed my Studebaker Larke Deluxe – with no reverse – out of its parking space and waved goodbye, I knew in my heart I’d be seeing 37 again.
After all . . . his car was at my place!