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It was a pleasant Sunday evening when I met my then to be future wife. I was a shaggy, bearded Grizzly Adams wannabe and Jan was, like now, a tall, thin brunette that looked like a cross between Cher and Ali McGraw. This particular evening found us both attending a class being taught at the local Unitarian Church. Actually she was attending the class; I was just there to meet some wild and crazy Unitarian woman that might like to debate the existence of a superior being while riding around in my 1962 Mercedes Benz 220. I had strayed away from my usual path of driving a very old American car to driving something more exotic, and therefore impossible to find parts for or afford to have repaired. It was my theory that the combination of my unshaven & unsheared head sitting in an oatmeal brown Mercedes was likely irresistible to any woman. I had been unsuccessfully proving that theory for a couple of years when I stumbled across Jan that evening.
I found some lame excuse to strike up a conversation with her and then quickly dropped into our discussion the fact that I drove a Mercedes. She, like many other women I�d met, didn�t seem to appreciate the widely known fact that all women find a Mercedes man irresistible. Didn�t she know that any unshaven guy driving a 15 year old beat up exotic car was likely a guy on his way up? Didn�t she wonder if I might be exotic and desirable in life�s other offerings? I managed to procure her phone number and within a week fate had us riding together in the Quaker Oats Chariot. Two things happened as our relationship progressed; she got even better and the Mercedes got even worse. Jan was always up for a game of tennis, a walk around Green Lake or dining out at a cheap restaurant that catered to a guy that was always broke due to Germany�s finest being prone to self destruct.
Time passed and our relationship progressed. Eighteen months later I had successfully tricked Jan into becoming Mrs. Lambert. The new Mrs. Lambert, now being the smarter of the Lamberts, suggested that we replace the Mercedes with a car that was not constantly requiring expensive repairs. I, now not being the smarter of the Lamberts, went shopping and bought a 1974 Volvo station wagon. Guess what; the Swedes design their cars for people with two left arms and lots of extra money to give to Siegfried�s cousin Sven.
These days Jan�s car is a very dependable Chevrolet station wagon and my car is a Bremerton Shipyard gray 1958 Rambler. I have once again proved who is the smarter of the Lamberts.
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