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I TOOK ONE OF MY periodic trips into the past the other day, triggered by the word ‘honeymoon.” It was a rainy Saturday afternoon in a barber shop. I was a pretty good sized boy; anyway, I had graduated from papa’s haircuts. Papa would give my brother and myself 50 cents each; 25 for haircut, 10 for movie, five cents for a bag of peanuts and a dime left over for Sunday School the next day.
Well, to get back to the story about the barber shop. The barbers and patrons had their own opinions as to how they could tell when the honeymoon was over. Some of them were pretty salty; maybe not so pretty, just salty.
I was talking to a lady about a trip she and her husband had made. She told me where they had gone and some of the details of the trip. I asked her what honeymoon it was; assuming they had taken many in their years of married bliss. She replied in her inimitable way: ‘‘It was just a part of a perpetual one.”
‘‘Happy is the man who has found his work.” I might change that quote to: Happy is the man who has found his mate. Any kind of work might be tolerable when it is fora wife you love, one who maintains a home with a happy atmosphere.
There is a popular song that says the way to prolong the honeymoon is to
“Kiss an angel good morning
And tell her that you’ll miss her while you’re gone.
Kiss an angel good morning
And love her like the d—1
When you get back home.” □
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