Column: Can I get fries with that wife?

As a young man, I suffered the delusion that some day, by an improbable circumstance, I would marry.

The idea of the ideal Mrs. Right came in many forms. First, she'd be French! French Canadian? No, she'd be a local, Scandinavian blonde.

That seems almost too probable around here. Then again, look at the potential groom.

It was then I met my first fiancé, a Zorbaz barstool. From this vantage point, the stool and I surveyed locals, tourists, frequent visitors, sales representatives, and any possible woman to marry the hazy-eyed lunatic at the end of the bar.

No such luck.

Then it hit me.

I should marry a bartender!

Discounted and free drinks, great service and all kinds of perks came to mind.

"Honey, when you get to work, put a reserved sign on my barstool, will ya?"

So I dated a bartender.

Turns out, they don't quite appreciate the boyfriend being a regular at the bar. How can they flirt for tips with El Macho sitting there marking his turf? Secondly, there are no free drinks. If you're going to ruin her night, she's going to ruin yours. The bartender slash girlfriend was quite easily the worst bartender I'd ever had.

Three years of this before I ended up being a regular at a different bar and with a different girl.

The bar is not the best place to meet the future wife. I've been told this many times. Some advise the grocery store or church.

I don't know. Whenever I go to the grocery store it just doesn't have a feel for finding a date, let alone a wife.

What does the Lord think about asking girls out at church? Seems inappropriate to me.

So, no church, no grocery, no bar, where's a fella to look?

"Where else do I even go?"

Yes, I audibly ask myself questions.

If there's one place I frequent in the surrounding area more than anywhere, it's bachelor haven, the drive-ups.

I've noticed the food drive-thrus in Perham are some of the fastest I've ever witnessed. I'll leave the office, hit one of the drive-ups, get my order and be back at my desk in minutes.

Perhaps this is the answer to my dilemma. I should marry a drive-thru girl.

"Thanks for stopping, can I take your order?"

"Uhhh, yeah, I'll have the spicy wife burger and a gargantuan Mello Yello."

"Do you want fries with that wife?"