Loose Screws

Piña coladas and the rest of my life One of the great things about marrying your high school sweetheart is that you get to discover so much together. I used to say “one of my high school sweethearts” because I did date other girls in high school, but my Queen suggested that I alter that statement, pointing out that she was the only real sweetheart. I don’t argue with the Queen about this type of thing. We discovered something delightful on our honeymoon: piña coladas. We honeymooned in Saint Thomas in 1972. At that time, piña coladas were not that well known in our section of the Bronx. Come to think of it, we didn’t have many palm trees either. On the first night in Saint Thomas, we both choose piña coladas as a cocktail. They were great. The next night at dinner, I decided immediately on another piña colada. Why mess with success? The queen decided on a zombie. (Notice the use of the lowercase q; this was the honeymoon, and I did not fully understand what Queen meant yet.) After one sip, I realized I had made the right drink choice. What could be better: a new bride, a tropical island, a great dinner, and an exotic cocktail. After the queen’s first taste, she decided that the zombie was not to her liking. She would drink it, but she wasn’t that enthusiastic about it. I ask you, men, what would you do on your honeymoon? I offered to switch drinks. This made her very happy and gained me some points. Not that I needed points at that stage, but they were points in any case. The next evening, I ordered … a piña colada, and the small q queen ordered a rum punch. Although she did not say anything, I could tell that I was supposed to ask her if she wanted to switch again. I did ask. We did switch. I consoled myself with the fact that it is a good thing for your bride to be adventurous on her honeymoon. I will not make the reader go through the litany of alcoholic concoctions that I drank during the rest of the stay, none of which I ordered, by the way. I did get one reprieve when we went to place where the banana daiquiri was invented. We both ordered them. She didn’t like it, but I had the same drink so switching would not work. I used to think that it was just by chance that the queen did not like any of the things she ordered, but I am not that sure now. I think it was a plot. Maybe all along she loved rum punch and zombies. Maybe this was all a conspiracy to teach the new hubby who the Queen really was. (Notice the capital Q.) It is probably written up in those women’s magazines, like Cosmo. Hey, come to think of it, a Cosmo is a very popular drink these days with the Queen and her curling friends. This is further proof of the conspiracy. Even the Warren Commission would have found this one. Whether it was planned or not, a trend was started that week in July 1972. The Queen has no qualms about experimenting with any menu item as long as I order something she likes. She is not that adventurous, just armed with the certainty that I will switch with her. I have even seen her reconsider her choice once she finds out I am ordering something she doesn’t like. It goes something like this: Queen to waiter: “I’ll have the monkey brains stewed in kidney broth.” Me to waiter: “I’ll have the tripe.” (The Queen hates tripe.) Queen back to waiter: “Oh, on second thought, I’ll have the pot roast.” Happens every time! I can’t tell you how many times I have ordered tripe after having heard her order something I won’t like. I have actually gotten to like tripe—or at least so I tell myself.