I recently went to the wedding of a nephew in my home town. Of all of the times I’ve visited home, I’ve never met any of my old female flames. Oh, I never tried to look them up, as phone books are no help since women usually change their last names for some reason. The internet doesn’t use maiden names either.

I only had one romance that lasted beyond the second date (before I met Mrs. Lloyd.) I always thought that I lost Susan because my first love was an airplane. She was the most beautiful thing, a 1950s Aeronca 7AC Champion. Susan and I were an item for about two years until Uncle Sam told me it was time to go to war. Susan was easy to get over because the Army let me play with helicopters.

Fast forward fifty years. My son and I go west for a wedding. The hotel check in went like this. “Two reservations in the name of Lloyd.” “Are you in town for the big game?” “No, a wedding this weekend.” “Would that be the one at the Lutheran Church?” “Yes.” “See you there.” “Are you related to the bride?” “I’m her mother.” “Congratulations.” I had no clue.

In most stories of this sort, a physical description of the woman would be forthcoming. Said description would include height, weight and a number and letter code of some sort. As it is obvious she is almost as old as me, forget it, use your imagination.

Fast forward to the reception. “You don’t remember me do you Lloyd? I’m Susan.” “You’re Susan S.? Gosh, Susan how’ve you been?” “Fine, are you married?” “Widowed about five years. How about you?” “Divorced for a long time.” The conversation for the next thirty and a half minutes consisted of fifty years of personal history, leaving out the bad parts.

Susan told me about the bride’s sister who is about my son’s age implying a possible set up. I replied, “What makes you think they will hit it off any better than we did? He is settled back East, has a good business started. He fits women into his schedule when it suits him, not them. I doubt he’s got past second base.”

Like a 2X4 whacked on my head, she said, “You never did with me either.” “Susan, that was a different era. Home runs were rare in those days. I remember on one of our first dates you told me to stay north of the border.” “There are reasons a girl has to say no sometimes. Why didn’t you try?” “I thought you set a limit, you never said it was temporary! Besides, I was afraid of you getting in a family way in those pre-pill days.” “Didn’t you ever learn, sometimes a girl says no, but means yes.” And sometimes they yes and then no. No wonder some guys go to jail or insane! “It’s a wonder you and Mrs. Lloyd ever had children.”

“What about waiting till after the altar?” “That was Caroline. Girls compare notes.” Dang, I never knew that they were friends. I wonder what else about me they discussed. I did get a second date with Caroline, but I don’t remember her number/letter size and you’ll have to imagine how many bases we scored.

It wasn’t the airplane after all. Just think, I could have hit a triple or even a homer. Susan could have been Mrs. Lloyd and I’d have been a farmer with a Champ on a runway in the pasture. She’d still be second fiddle to an airplane.

I am glad I had thirty nine good years with the real Mrs. Lloyd. Whenever she said no, I knew why. When my son was conceived was not my only home run. There has never been a doubt that our marriage was God’s will. I also will not give any sizes about Mrs. Lloyd or batting stats.

What happened to Susan and me after the wedding? Did her daughter and my son get together? Keep in mind where you are reading this story. Like most humor stories it is rated 3Fs; that is Fun, Fantasy and Fiction. Like all of my stories there are germs of fact in them, but the most of it is from a warped imagination