bored out of
our minds and thought it rather odd that a festive dinner should
be ruined by listening to a lecturer on philosophy. We were most
pleasantly surprised, however, when Professor Dinsmore turned out
to be one of the funniest stand-up comedians we had ever heard.
There have been times when British humor has been
incomprehensible to the American taste, but his humor was
universal and the laughs were loud and plentiful. It seems that
comedy started out as a hobby with Dinsmore and after keeping
friends and students alike laughing for many years, his wife
encouraged him to speak at various functions. John Dinsmore
looks every inch the professor. He is tall, thin, and has wavy
grey hair and wears glasses. He dresses mostly in tweed jackets
and sedate ties. His general demeanor is quiet, reserved, and
dignified. This makes him all the more hilarious as he spouts
his wry, low-keyed sense of humor. His jokes run the gamut from
poking fun at the British way of life to an hilarious monologue
on pantyhose, which in Britain are called tights. After his
performance, I sought him out. He knew of me, which flattered me
very much, and we retired to the bar with our wives for an after—
dinner drink. His wife, Christine, was as charming as he was.
She was a tall, rather ungainly woman with a pleasant face that
was almost pretty. The both of them were the kind of people
whose looks grow on you the longer you know them. The four of us
hit it off wonderfully and became fast friends. They had been
married for fourteen years and had no children. She was a
physical therapist and had a career of her own. They seemed to
get along as well as any couple we’d ever met. When Julie and I
returned to the hotel, she had a few words to say about the
deferential way John treated Christine. I, in turn, had a few
words to say about the deferential way Christine treated John.
We became fast friends, exchanging letters and Christmas cards
and visiting with them each time one or both of us came to
London. I thought that spending some time with this
extraordinary couple would be just the therapy I needed. I knew
I couldn’t get through to John at this time of the day, so I
called Chris at her clinic.
“Robert, darling, I can’t believe you’re in London. Is
Julie with you?”
“Uh … no … not this time. I’m here alone.”
We caught each other up on some mutual interests, but I
was very careful not to mention the true circumstances of my
visit.
“You must come for dinner. How is tomorrow night for you?
If you’re busy, we can make it later in the week?”
“Tomorrow night would be great. I’ll look forward to it.”
I was a bit disappointed that the invitation was for
tomorrow and not this evening. In my current state of mind, I
didn’t want to be alone. As soon as I hung up, without thinking
of the time, I direct-dialed Ann Marie.
Her sleepy voice sounded incredibly sexy to me, but I
apologized instantly for not checking the time difference. I
told her immediately of my breakup with Jane and of my present
location.
“You’re on the right track, but you must come home. I
have an idea. You don’t have to tell anyone else you’re home.
Move in with me and I’ll soothe you and make you whole again.
After all our fantasies about living together, we can actually do
it.”
To say I was taken aback by this proposal was a gross
understatement. Ann Marie was now sixty-three years old. She
looked magnificent. Over the years she had turned from Anna
Magnani to Sophia Loren. She had acquired a sophistication in
dress and behavior that added to her sensuality. I know her age
didn’t bother me. We’d been together so long that I didn’t even
notice. I think what bothered me was that in our present
relationship she tolerated my other women and was almost able to
function as a male friend would. I thought that the magic might
die if we ever entered into a traditional
our minds and thought it rather odd that a festive dinner should
be ruined by listening to a lecturer on philosophy. We were most
pleasantly surprised, however, when Professor Dinsmore turned out
to be one of the funniest stand-up comedians we had ever heard.
There have been times when British humor has been
incomprehensible to the American taste, but his humor was
universal and the laughs were loud and plentiful. It seems that
comedy started out as a hobby with Dinsmore and after keeping
friends and students alike laughing for many years, his wife
encouraged him to speak at various functions. John Dinsmore
looks every inch the professor. He is tall, thin, and has wavy
grey hair and wears glasses. He dresses mostly in tweed jackets
and sedate ties. His general demeanor is quiet, reserved, and
dignified. This makes him all the more hilarious as he spouts
his wry, low-keyed sense of humor. His jokes run the gamut from
poking fun at the British way of life to an hilarious monologue
on pantyhose, which in Britain are called tights. After his
performance, I sought him out. He knew of me, which flattered me
very much, and we retired to the bar with our wives for an after—
dinner drink. His wife, Christine, was as charming as he was.
She was a tall, rather ungainly woman with a pleasant face that
was almost pretty. The both of them were the kind of people
whose looks grow on you the longer you know them. The four of us
hit it off wonderfully and became fast friends. They had been
married for fourteen years and had no children. She was a
physical therapist and had a career of her own. They seemed to
get along as well as any couple we’d ever met. When Julie and I
returned to the hotel, she had a few words to say about the
deferential way John treated Christine. I, in turn, had a few
words to say about the deferential way Christine treated John.
We became fast friends, exchanging letters and Christmas cards
and visiting with them each time one or both of us came to
London. I thought that spending some time with this
extraordinary couple would be just the therapy I needed. I knew
I couldn’t get through to John at this time of the day, so I
called Chris at her clinic.
“Robert, darling, I can’t believe you’re in London. Is
Julie with you?”
“Uh … no … not this time. I’m here alone.”
We caught each other up on some mutual interests, but I
was very careful not to mention the true circumstances of my
visit.
“You must come for dinner. How is tomorrow night for you?
If you’re busy, we can make it later in the week?”
“Tomorrow night would be great. I’ll look forward to it.”
I was a bit disappointed that the invitation was for
tomorrow and not this evening. In my current state of mind, I
didn’t want to be alone. As soon as I hung up, without thinking
of the time, I direct-dialed Ann Marie.
Her sleepy voice sounded incredibly sexy to me, but I
apologized instantly for not checking the time difference. I
told her immediately of my breakup with Jane and of my present
location.
“You’re on the right track, but you must come home. I
have an idea. You don’t have to tell anyone else you’re home.
Move in with me and I’ll soothe you and make you whole again.
After all our fantasies about living together, we can actually do
it.”
To say I was taken aback by this proposal was a gross
understatement. Ann Marie was now sixty-three years old. She
looked magnificent. Over the years she had turned from Anna
Magnani to Sophia Loren. She had acquired a sophistication in
dress and behavior that added to her sensuality. I know her age
didn’t bother me. We’d been together so long that I didn’t even
notice. I think what bothered me was that in our present
relationship she tolerated my other women and was almost able to
function as a male friend would. I thought that the magic might
die if we ever entered into a traditional
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