Bologna story. Now, little ones, beware. This has a SLIGHT bit of off-color notation in it - BUT. My mother, who is 87+, continues to relay this story. So, what the heck...
My parents were married the weekend before Thanksgiving, in 1941. They were on their honeymoon, the morning of December 7, 1941. Pearl Harbor Day. My father was a newly commissioned 2nd Lt in the Infantry. How he survived, I don't know...
Anyway, he was stationed stateside for a bit, and my newlywed mother was visiting with the other officer's wives - including the wife of a general officer. They were discussing what their husbands liked to eat for lunch. Finally, it was her turn. "What does Sam like?". My Mom: "Oh, my Sam, he just LOVES that donkey ****...". My poor innocent mother... The horrified look on the ladies' faces told it all. My father - who is 88 - and laughs his butt off at this story - had no idea that she didn't know. She had been going into the commissary, and ordering: "... and how about a pound of donkey ****..." every week. The butcher just smiled, and sliced her bologna for her.
Bill
215g FOWLR... and anemones, GSP, gorgonians... carp, that isn't FO!
"I killed my first SW Fish in 1971..."