He is a strange mixture of the doer and the dreamer—the genius and the child. Parts of his brain never passed third grade while other parts could sit down and tie Einstein in knots during a discussion of nuclear physics, advanced mathematics or what have you. He lives in a small bungalow at the edge of town, in the basement of which is his laboratory. A steel door bars the public from this laboratory and it was upon this door that Joy and I pounded futilely for three days. Finally the door opened and Uncle Peter greeted us.
"Homer—my dear boy! Have you been knocking long?"
"Quite a while, Uncle Peter—off and on that is. I have some news for you. I am going to get married."
My uncle became visibly disturbed. "My boy! That's wonderful—truly wonderful. But I'm certainly surprised at you. Tsk-tsk-tsk!"
"What do you mean by tsk-tsk-tsk?"
"Your moral training has been badly neglected. You plan marriage even while traveling about in the company of this woman you have with you."
Joy is a lady of the finest breeding, but she can be caught off-guard at times. This was one of the times. She said, "Listen here, you bald-headed jerk. Nobody calls me a woman—"
Uncle Peter was mildly interested. "Then if you aren't a woman, what—?"
I hastened to intervene. "You didn't let Joy finish, Uncle Peter. She no doubt would have added—'in that tone of voice.' And I think her attitude is entirely justified. Joy is a fine girl and my intended bride."
"Oh, why didn't you say so?"