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It was September 1969. The future Mrs. Pessimist and her roommate had moved into the apartment just above the one that my two roommates and I occupied. My two friends had asked them out for pizza and I met my future bride that night when they came back to our apartment. Strangely enough, I was actually studying for a college assignment and had not joined them. That was the last time she saw me studying for quite some time. I heard my roommates talking later that night about how hot Mrs. Pessimist was and I decided I should preempt any attempt on their part to claim her affections. I went up to her apartment the next day and invited her to a Jose Feliciano concert that was scheduled for later that week. My enthusiasm and Jose's romantic charm made for a delightful first date.
So she invited me up to her apartment the next day. Her roommate was working the evening shift at the hospital. She cooked the best meal I have ever eaten although I suspect it might have been the first meal she had ever cooked. She served store-bought breaded veal patties sautéed in a pan with mozzarella cheese on top with a side of canned Franco-American spaghetti. I didn't know that spaghetti came in a can but it was absolutely delicious. They don't make that anymore. The closest thing is Spaghettios which is not nearly the same.
Are there any memories that are stronger than the memory of love? The memories of love and food become inseparable over time. What say you?
Discussion (25)
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Well said, and a delightful story! I recommend it strongly for promotion to the Main Feed.
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I gave this to Mrs. Camper to read. She was laughing and making girl-type comments (“oh, that’s so sweet”, etc.) I’ve never heard her respond so favorably to something on Ricochet that I forced her to read.
So, terrific post!
I think this could be the moment to strike. Should I try to parley this into a subscription for Kate? Should I see if she will join the Monday Night @ctlaw calls?
Or would I be overplaying my hand?
You all would love the Brown-Eyed Beauty if she joined us. More importantly, over time she would get you to understand me, the Camper himself. Then, about three years later, many of you would start to like me or not mind me nearly as much.
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Tonight is our 44th anniversary, we are currently on the road down to Williamsburg ( relax I’m not driving). This was the location of our honeymoon. We were both still in college but Mrs D was tired of waiting for one of us to graduate (she did two months later, I had change my major to engineering and would take another year). So we were as poor as the proverbial church mice, but we did one splurge at one of the Colonial restaurants that recreate the menu and ambience of the colonial period.
I hope we can recreate that evening, however this time it will be with one of our married children.
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I think you are most definitely overplaying your hand. I am also sure everyone here would love the Brown-Eyed Beauty although I don't know how many of us want to understand the Camper.
That said, I think we already like you.
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I happened to mention my reaction to “…I and my two roommates occupied.” I liked it the moment I noticed the Pessimist’s atypical word order.
I read it to the Boatwife. I started to say why it made so much more sense than the schoolmarms’ rule.
She interrupted and finished the thought for me. “Because it isn’t about the three of them. It is about him.
My point is that you will like Kate if I can talk her into joining. (She likes Trump more than I do. For what it’s worth.)
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