Cute Love Stories
Cute love stories
I Screwed Up the Honeymoon, But 68 Years Later We Are Still in Love
But the couple is still married, 68 years later!
Our honeymoon started on June 21, 1947, at the Drake Hotel in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I woke up in the middle of the night to a hard push and wound up on the floor. I remember thinking, Is there an unspoken message here?
The next morning Sandy and I boarded a train to Miami Beach, Florida. When the conductor asked for our tickets, I handed him our marriage license by mistake. He looked me and said, “This is good for a lot of rides, but not on this train. You’ll have to produce a ticket.”
Later that morning, after ordering pancakes in the dining car, a woman across the table asked why I was pouring coffee on my pancakes. “It isn’t coffee; it’s syrup,” I replied. “They probably heat it up to make it pour easier.” Well, I was wrong and she was right. It was coffee.
When we pulled into Fort Lauderdale and went to our hotel, another surprise awaited—twin-size beds. I immediately called the desk and told the clerk I was on my honeymoon and definitely had ordered a double bed. The clerk told me that they didn’t have a double bed but that I could push together the two singles. I raised my voice and said, “I want what I ordered.” A double bed was delivered—at 6:30 the next morning.
Things were definitely starting to add up, and after I mistakenly used Vaseline instead of underarm deodorant, my lovely new bride expressed a look of concern about our lifelong commitment.
Sure enough, when we returned to Philadelphia, I sprained my back carrying her across the threshold of our new home and spent two weeks in bed.
That was 68 years ago, and I don’t put coffee on my pancakes or Vaseline under my arms anymore. But after reviewing what I wrote here, a second honeymoon would be most welcome.
Cute love stories
The Beautiful Girl Next Door Absolutely Refused Go on a Date with Me. Now She’s My Wife.
This persistent man started calling her the “No” Girl because of all her rejections. One rainy day, she finally said yes.
Home from the Navy in 1947, I started school at Greenville College in my hometown of Greenville, Illinois, about 50 miles east of St. Louis, Missouri. I had been out of high school for four years, but my high school principal, Mr. Gardner, invited me to a Valentine’s Day dance at school. We lived in a small community, and the thought of seeing my former teachers was intriguing. So I agreed.
When Friday came, I cleaned up, gussied up and drove to the high school gym. I chatted with my former teachers and approached Mr. Gardner to thank him before leaving. Just then, the band started playing and a young woman stood up to sing. One look at her and I was mesmerized. I had never seen such a beautiful woman, so I concluded that she must be from a nearby town.
I asked Mr. Gardner who she was, and he answered, “That’s Marilyn Riley, Cut Riley’s daughter.”
I was flabbergasted to say the least. The Rileys lived just around the corner from me.
I walked across the gym floor to introduce myself and said, “Hi, I’m Jack Joseph.”
“I know who you are,” was her not-too-friendly response.
“Would you like to dance?” I asked.
“No!” she shot back.
“I’m working,” she replied.
“Can I call you next week for a movie date?” I asked.
“No,” was her response.
I could see no reason to argue, so I thanked her for nothing, tucked my pride in my coat pocket and left.
For the next month I phoned, trying to set up a date. She always had the same answer: No.
Then one rainy afternoon in March as I was driving home after basketball practice, I saw Marilyn, the “No” girl, walking with no umbrella, no raincoat, no hat.
I pulled alongside her and asked if she needed a ride, half expecting her to say no. Instead, she stepped over the curb and plopped down on the seat next to me. It was only a few blocks to her house, but after pulling into her driveway we talked for 45 minutes. It was magic from then on.