Women Are Funny

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“I’m frivolous,” she warned him, “you better not.” And she added in an awe-inspiring whisper, “Mother says I’ve never grown up, my father says I never will, and my brother says if I do, you have his sympathy.”

“I know!” Tommy scowled. “They’re jealous because I’m going to have you all to myself.”

“Don’t blame me afterwards,” Nanette shrugged, “if you find out you don’t like it as much as you think you do—” But he simply took her in his arms and silenced her with seventy-eight kisses of all varieties, long ones, short ones, and in-between ones.

“Nothing can stop me,” he said breathlessly, “not even mountains or... or hurricanes!”

“Then,” she said, seeing that it was all settled, “can I bring Guadeloupe to live with us?”

“Why, yes,” said Tommy, too happy to even ask who, what or which Guadeloupe was.

And so he married her — because of her yellow, yellow hair that was the color of sweet print-butter and because of her eyes that did such terrible things to him without meaning to at all every time he looked into them — and principally because she was Nanette and for no other reason.

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