Mail Order Bride

Tom Mollica

tom@studiotommy.com

414-383-3886

Mail Order Bride

Bob put a Hungry Harold Salisbury Steak dinner in the microwave and set the timer for three minutes. Ten seconds later, the doorbell rang. Bob sighed and hoped it wasn’t any of his friends showing up unexpectedly and interrupt his lunch.

Opening the front door, a female ITS (International Trucking Service) delivery driver stood outside with a big box on a wheeled dolly. “I have a delivery for Bob Gronkle.”

“I don’t remember ordering anything – especially something this big.”

The driver looked at an electronic tablet she held. “Is your name Bob Gronkle?”

“Yes.”

“Then it must be yours. Please sign here.” She handed Bob the electronic pen attached to her tablet. Bob took it and signed. After looking at the signature, the driver wheeled the box into the living room and set it down.

“I don’t remember ordering anything – especially something this big.”

She handed Bob an envelope. “It’s a present from your mother.”

Bob looked at the box and pulled a card from the envelope. “You read the card?”

The driver shrugged. “What can I say. I’ve always been snoopy.”

The box was big. A few weeks ago, Bob mentioned to his mom that his refrigerator was making loud noises. Maybe she bought him a new one.

The driver handed Bob a tablet and pointed to it. “Please sign here. Use your finger.”

Using his index finger, Bob tried to make his signature legible. It was not.

The woman pointed again. “Add a date.”

“I don’t have a date,” Bob answered.

The woman answered, “Dad joke.”

Bob filled in the date.

After checking out the signature and date, the driver wheeled the box into the living room and set it down. “Is this okay?”

“Yea, sure.”

Rolling the dolly out, the delivery driver said, “Have a nice day.”

“You too,” Bob answered and read the label. “Bob Gronkle. It is addressed to me.”

He pulled a front flap, and the box opened. A plump woman in her forties or fifties jumped out. She wore a plain, full-length dress with a string tied around her hips and carried a large old fashion purse. Her hair was put up in a bun.

Bob jumped back. “Hey.”

The woman talked with a Russian Accent. “Vhew. Danka. It is hot in zere.”

“What the? Who are you?”

“I am Olga. Your mail-order bride from Russia. Olga comes from Krasnoyarsk, Siberia.”

“I didn’t order a bride. How long were you in there?”

“Three days. Express delivery. You pay extra for dat. Vhere is your bathroom?” She put her hands over her front and jumped up and down. “I have to go.”

Bob pointed. “Right down the hall. You held it for three days?”

“Da,” Olga yelled as she ran down the hall.

Bob looked at the box. Holes were punched in the top - probably so she could breathe, he thought. Pulling a paper from it, he looked an invoice over, and read it, “One mail-order bride from The Russian Union Mail Order Bride Company.”

A card was in his mom’s handwriting.

“Dear son. You have been single for too long. I would like you to get me married so I can have grandchildren. Please accept this gift as an early birthday present. Yours truly. Your mother.”

He called his mom. “Mom! You sent a Russian woman to my house.”

“That’s nice, honey. I have to go.”

“What do you mean you have to go?”

“Your father wants his dinner. I made tuna fish casserole.”

“Wait - I want to talk to you.”

Bob heard a dial tone.

“Mom, mom, mother.”

Olga returned and stood in front of him. She smelled her armpit. “I am stinky.”

“Three days in a box might do that,” Bob answered.

She put the armpit in Bob’s face. “Take a smell of me.”

Bob pushed her away. “Yes, yes. You are stinky.” He rubbed his face, thinking it might make the underarm smell go away. “Look, there’s been a mistake.”

“I have paperwork.” Olga dug in her purse and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here is contract.”

Bob grabbed it and looked it over. “My name is on it. One Russian mail order bride, but it is my mom’s writing. I didn’t sign this.”

“Mother knows best.”

Bob held up the contract next to Olga. “This isn’t even you. The woman in the picture looks like a supermodel and is wearing a bikini.”

“She could not come to marry you. Had belly ache. Ate bad borscht. I am fill-in to marry.”

“But, I don’t…”

Olga moved forward. “Maybe we kiss.” She made Guppy fish-like motions with her lips.

Bob held up his hands to ward her off. “Wait, wait, wait. No kissing.”

“Ve have much time to kiss after vedding. And ve have a big vedding. Many bottles of wadka.”

“Oh, boy. Vhy. I mean why. Why don’t you go freshen up a little?”

“Da. Good idea from you. Olga freshen. Vash my feet too. I get my bag.” She moved to the box and pulled out an old cloth suitcase. Setting it down, she opened it and pulled out a pair of bloomer-type underwear. “Underpants for vedding night. My mother wears dese on her vedding night.”

“Oh, my.” Bob rubbed his hand through his hair. “Yes, they are wonderful. I can hardly contain myself.”

Olga shook her finger at him. “But you only go to second base until ve get married proper.”

“Right, right. Good plan. Save yourself for the wedding night. There are extra towels in the cabinet.”

“I go. Then I cook you a big meal. You have cabbage and moose meat in ice box?”

“Uh, no.”

“I tink of something. Maybe we go to store when I come back.”

“Right, sure. We’ll go to the supermarket and get a couple of pounds of moose meat.”

Bob watched Olga walk out of the room. As soon as she left, the doorbell rang. “Now what?” He stepped to the door and opened it.

His next-door neighbor Wally stood outside and walked in without an invite. Wally was in his fifties and wore blue jean shorts pulled up over his bellybutton with a Hawaiian shirt tucked in, black sox, and dock shoes. He was holding a five-dollar bill. “Hi, neighbor.”

“Hi, Wally.”

“You got change for a five, big guy? I ran out and want to get lunch.”

“I should have. How’s the vending machine you had put in your kitchen working out?”

“It’s great when I remember to get change. No more cooking for me. A guy from Victor’s Vending comes over and fills it once a week.”

“Sounds good.”

Wally continued, “It’s like I’m living on the Star Ship Enterprise in Star Trek, and I just go to the food replicator and get something to eat.”

“Right.”

Olga returned. “Vhere is da lye soap? I not find in bathroom.”

“Whoa. What do we have here?” Wally asked.

Bob answered, “This is Olga.” He moved a finger back and forth between the two. “Olga, Wally. Wally, Olga.”

A big smile appeared on Wally’s face. “Well, hello there, good looking.”

Olga smiled back, “And hello to you, Vally.”

“There’s Irish Spring soap in the bathroom. Well, it’s British Spring. I bought it at the Dollar Store.”

“Olga no like. I tink I have soap in handbag.” She went to the box and stepped in.

“How much stuff do you have in that box?” Bob asked.

Wally pulled Bob to the side of the room as Olga rummaged around inside the box. “Who’s the hot number? Is she your main squeeze?”

“Main squeeze? No, no. She’s here by accident. Feel free to put your moves on her.”

Olga came out of the box, holding a large purse.

Wally stepped to her and talked in a boastful voice, “You know, Olga, I own the house next door. It has a vending machine in the kitchen. Do you have any change in that purse?”

“Vending machine in kitchen. You rich Americans. I only have rubles. Vill that vork in machine?”

“I don’t think so,” Wally answered.

“I’ll get you some change,” Bob quickly announced and went to another room.

When he left, Olga and Wally stood and looked at each other sheepishly. Wally bent his head down and shuffled his right foot back and forth. “Soooo.”

Olga said, “Tell me, Vally. Does not your vife cook you foods?”

“I’m not married,” Wally answered. 

Olga broke out in a huge smile, showing a missing tooth in front. “Not married. Vhat a shame. A handsome man like you does not have a vife.”

Wally waved a hand. “Aw, shucks. I’m not that handsome. More like a rugged, he-man looking guy.”

“Olga tinks, you are handsome.”

“And you are quite the looker yourself.”

“Does Vally have job?”

“Sure do. I’m a mailman.”

“Olga like a man in uniform.”

“Maybe you can have lunch with me. Today I was going to eat a little can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew, and an egg salad sandwich. You can have your choice of three different flavors of potato chips.”

“Olga vould like that.”

The two stood silent for a few seconds, and both now looked at the ground. This time Olga shuffled her feet.

Wally said, “It’s too bad you’re staying with Bob.”

Olga looked at the contract on the table. She picked it up and put it down her blouse.

Bob returned with a handful of coins and gave them to Wally. “Here’s five dollars in change.”

Wally held out his hands and took it. “Thanks.”

Olga announced, “I have not good news for you, Bob Gronkle. Olga, by accident flush marriage contract down the toilet.”

Bob looked to the table where the contract had been. “But it was just…” Seeing Wally and Olga eyeing each other, he answered, “Oh, sure. I can see how that might happen. Well, I guess we can’t be married.”

“Okay, I go,” said Olga quickly. “I get my bag and go to see Vally’s food machine.”

Olga hurried out of the room, and Wally and Bob stood without saying anything or looking at each other.

Wally nodded his head. “Yep, yep, yep.” He picked up a lamp and looked at it. “Nice lamp.”

“Got it at Walmart. Eight-ninety-nine,” Bob answered, happy to break the uncomfortable silence.

The two again stood a few seconds quietly. Wally looked at the television. “You going to watch the game tonight?”

“Yep. Big game. Packers and Bears.”

“That Jordan Love. He really can throw the pigskin.”

“Yep, he really can throw the pigskin,” Bob repeated.

Olga returned with her suitcase. She had taken her hair out of the bun, and it hung down to the center of her back. Holding up the bloomer underwear, she asked, “Vant to see my fancy underpants, Vally?”

Wally eyed the underwear. “Whoo weee.”

Wally and Olga began to walk out. He waved and said, “See you later, Bob.”

“Yea, see you,” Bob answered.

Olga turned back. “Bye-bye. Duh svee-dah-nee-ye.”

As soon as the door shut, the phone rang. Bob answered it. “Hello - Yes, this is Bob Gronkle. No, I never signed up for the whoopee, whoopee dating service. - That picture sounds like the one from my twenty-first birthday party. - But I don’t want to go to country-western party night and dress like a cowboy.”

Hanging up the phone, he yelled, “Mother!”

The End