He’s Got It Bad…

Darned if I haven’t almost outdone myself lately in writing to my sister, Bonnie. Knowing how much she enjoys getting mail, I suddenly decided a while ago that this would be a convenient way to dispose of some of the “odds and ends of letter-writing ideas” that have been knocking about my brain—things that I wouldn’t want to bother the folks with, but which Bonnie might find of some slight interest. I have gotten rid of many of those odds and ends already, in the letters of the past several weeks; the remaining supply should be good for two or three more outbursts. And then she’ll have to start threatening me again for mail! (Since I’ve been beating these out purely for recreational purposes, I hope Bonnie doesn’t feel that she must necessarily answer them. She’s probably busy.)

Well, we’ve certainly been having a rousing time with the guy who bunks across from me. (His nickname is also “Mac”, a fact which causes no small amount of confusion in that end of the hut.) A couple of weeks ago he met a “Wren” (popular name for a British girl in the WRNS – Women’s Royal Navy Reserve, I believe it stands for) at a party and immediately went off the deep end! He’s been over here a little less than a year, and until just recently he didn’t like the country, the people, or anything else. And then came the dawn. He met this Wren and things are dandy. All of which is very amusing to me because I remember how many times I’ve told him off for making what I thought were unfair criticisms of Britain and the British.

We boys who have known Mac these many months can’t believe the change that has come over him. And he’s been out with this girl only a couple of times. Now he’s trying to sell everyone on Britain. He used to be awfully grouchy when he arose in the morning; you should see him these days, singing with the radio, whistling, laughing, telling jokes. And to think a little Wren could do all that! He’s got it bad and that ain’t good. We catch him smiling to himself during the course of the day; his boss caught him day-dreaming at the office and told him to get to work. Oh, what a razzing and ribbing that guy has been taking in the hut. It goes on until late at night. He spends all his spare time shining his shoes, polishing his buttons, and tidying up his clothes. I think he has been going around in such a “glow” lately that when I look over at him in his corner of the hut, it looks like the sun is coming up.

A fellow can go along for months over in this country, minding his own business and having nothing to do with (shall we say) the female population, and then, all of a sudden, lightning strikes! He’s off the beam, starts getting out into the social whirl. I’ve seen it happen a hundred times. But no matter how often it has happened in the past, each new “case” is a surprise. “He was the guy who was going to wait until he got home!”, we exclaim. It seems they get tired of waiting after a while. That is not to say that these “victims” of something or other don’t eventually get over it. They do. Most of them, that is. Others aren’t so lucky—they often get married. That’s carrying a joke too far. The moral of this is “Every dog-face has his day”.

[letterstohome copyright 2008]

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