New York Hotel

The naive little blonde girl jumped out of the limousine.

"Yay for New York hotels," she cried.

She was so small and the New York hotel was so big. It looked like she was about to be devoured by a great gothic monster. My bride, my poor little bride, I thought.

By the time Ruben (the bell boy) and I had got the luggage into the honeymoon suite, the little girl had already made several ridiculous demands for room service.

"I love New York," she screamed into the phone. "I love New York, hotel manager!"

I'm afraid we were a bad match. She was boisterous when drunk, and I, somber. And both of us right now were quite drunk from the reception. She was very boisterous, and I was very somber.

Sadly, the night precipitated in my moving to Alaska to embark on a permanent crab-fishing trip. I expect my little bride will be widowed soon enough.