Dear Smiley: I was always one of the fortunate ones who got carded many years after it was necessary, and always loved it!
Then the dreaded day came when, on "senior discount day," the clerk at the grocery store took one look and said "Oh, I'll give you the discount.”
Dear Smiley: The use of the term "geaux" to mean "go" is unfortunate.
In Cajun French, or in standard French, "geaux" is pronounced a lot like Joe, with a soft j. A better spelling would be "gaux," which is pronounced exactly like "go …"
Dear Edwin: I found it interesting that my French-English dictionary doesn't mention either "geaux" or "gaux." For "go," in the sense of "Go Tigers," it seems the closest word is "commencer," which doesn't have the same impact.
Love and Sprites
Dear Smiley: Fifty-three years ago, a mutual friend introduced my husband Jay to me — because we both had red Austin-Healey Sprite convertibles and both LOVED the Beatles (1968, go figure). On Aug. 31 we will celebrate our 53rd anniversary.
Yes, those cars were a mechanical mess — every time it rained, the distributor cap would get wet and the car would stall, always on the new interstate in Metairie.
But I wouldn't trade the memories for the world.
NANCY C. FRANTZ
Dear Nancy: Spoken like a true Sprite owner. Because of those little cars, we learned to bear suffering …
Ending the dispute
Dear Smiley: Comments about small sports cars in conflict with human anatomy reminds me of when Bruce Herold was driving his Triumph and his buddy got into an altercation.
Bruce told the guy to leave his buddy alone, and the guy responded, "Why don't you just get out of that car and make me?"
Bruce opened the door and stuck his leg out, and as he proceeded to rise out of the Triumph, the guy exclaimed, "Man, when you start getting out you never stop!”
Bruce was 6 foot, 5 inches and 200 pounds.
Dear Smiley: The recent stories about small sports cars brought to mind the brand-new canary yellow ’73 Triumph Spitfire I purchased when I got out of the Air Force.
It was the most fun vehicle I have ever driven, but also the most dangerous — and that list includes a ’64 Chevy Corvair.
Driving down the interstate next to 18-wheelers, and having to look UP at their tires, made me think about how a bug must feel when it hits a windshield. It brings a chill to my spine now that I think about it.
I went from extreme to extreme in ’76, and traded the Spitfire in for a Chevy van. At least then I could see who was driving the rigs.
Not eggs-actly right
Dear Smiley: About 50 years ago, our crew was temporarily stationed at Sidi Slimane Air Base in Morocco.
At breakfast one morning, my buddy ordered a three-egg omelet, which I translated in French to a Moroccan waiter who had a limited knowledge of French.
The omelet arrived with obviously less than three eggs. My buddy told me to correct the problem with the waiter.
I explained to the waiter that the omelet was supposed to be three eggs, not two. The waiter took the dish, and returned with a fried egg on top of the omelet.
Obviously, eggs were at a premium in Morocco — or my Cajun French/Arabic misfired.
Dear Alex: I'd pick the latter option.
Secret of happiness
Dear Smiley: In reference to the "end of work" forum in Thursday's column:
My dad had many little signs on his office walls which I enjoyed as a kid. One sign read, "I've had many happy moments here — most of them at quitting time."
Groaner of the Week
Dear Smiley: Surveillance cameras recorded a bear breaking into Mr. Chan's store and stealing furniture. He had put children's shoes over his paws to not leave telltale paw prints.
The police put out an APB for a "boy-foot bear with teaks of Chan."