After the bad experience at the Mexican restaurant, I went to the car dealership so they could check out a noise under the hood. When I had left the house that morning, there was a loud slapping noise coming from under the hood, behind the dashboard, that sounded like what I thought was a broken belt. It stopped after 7 miles or so; therefore I went about my business. But I noticed the air in the car wasn't getting as cold as it should.

In the waiting room was myself, a guy, and a couple. The male of the couple was a good ole boy WASP kind of guy who's in the National Guard and has been in Iraq. Open, trusting, Christian--he made that clear.
His wife was Fillipino, a teeny woman who wore a size "OO" pair of jeans and high heels. If her husband stretched his arms out, she would fit under his armpit. Long black hair, dark skin and a cute little face, not a day over 20, like the girls you see in massage parlors or on a stripper pole etc.
In the course of conversation, he said he was 37. He looked so much like Mikey, a guy who used to be married to a Fillipino girl I knew. She brought her mother and other family members to the US, they all went to California-=-she was stuck in Mississippi on a farm with Mikey. She left him and he committed suicide.

This is what I've noticed about the Fillipino brides: They aren't interested in farms and country life--borrring. They like lights and cities and cars and jewelry. American men must like their teeniness and supposed subservience--that fades in a hurry. Okay, I'm a pessimist and a cynic, but looking at that besotted man I knew that one day she'll probably leave him and he'll be hurt, hurt to the quick, hurt nearly to death. Maybe not, but I wouldn't bet on it.

susil