They were dancing at the service club. He held her tight, his eyes were closed, and they danced as though floating on a cloud. Then the music stopped. "Let's go out on the porch," he said.
Outside, he took her in her arms and whispered in her shell-like ear, "Darling, I love you so. Say that you love me, too. I may not be rich like Sergeant Brown. I may not have a car like Sergeant Brown or spend money like he does, but I love you so much I'd do anything in the world for you."
Two soft, white arms reached around his neck, and two ruby lips whispered in his ear, "Darling, introduce me to Sergeant Brown."
One of my husband's duties as a novice drill instructor at Fort Jackson, S.C., was to escort new recruits to the mess hall. After everyone had made it through the chow line, he sat them down and told them, "There are three rules in this mess hall: Shut up! Eat up! Get up!"
Checking to see that he had everyone's attention, he asked, "What is the first rule?"
Much to the amusement of the other instructors, 60 privates yelled in unison, "Shut up, Drill Sergeant, Sir!"
My wife never quite got the hang of the 24-hour military clock. One day she called the base orderly room to speak with me. The person who answered told her to call me at the extension in the band rehearsal hall.
"He can be reached at 4700, Ma'am," the soldier advised.
With a sigh of exasperation, my wife responded, "And just what time is that?"