My uncle was what every woman was frightened of—and what she secretly wanted. He didn’t live by rules, with the exception of two—always pay your debts and never go into debt. I’ll explain later. He had women over, constantly. They were of all backgrounds and all types: virgins, whores, old women, young women, women with cats, divorced female teachers, lawyers, hygienists, and lots of nurses. There were few men that he spent time with. Most men think they want to be with women, but two is more than they can handle. Women’s problems are overwhelming, and my Uncle Bill provided a kind of therapy—that couldn’t be found around town. He met them at coffee shops and bars and shopping malls. And all these women did things for him. The nurses recommended various treatments—hot tube, with them— rest in bed, with them—massage, with them. My Uncle Bill had it figured-out and he never tired of what many married men called “a selfish lifestyle, a depraved existence—his luck will run out like his virility,” they said—”he’s nearly 70.”

My uncle taught women things they only dreamed of in romance novels. He flew them to his private island. It was there, that he dug-up his manuscript for the next best-selling season, and wrote his next master-work on the beach while drinking champagne and smoking Cubans. His existence was deep—there were secrets that he knew, that men shouldn’t know, and the women wanted him to talk, but he wouldn’t.

My uncle liked me. I was getting ready to finish college, and to figure-out who I wanted to be, but that was easy. I wanted to be him.

“Never go into debt, Andy, and if you do, always pay your debts. A man is a slave, if he has debt. He might be a slave to what he owns. He might be a slave to money. He might be a slave to someone he doesn’t know. The worst master is the one he can’t live without.” Bill said this, like he knew about it—like he had personal experience he didn’t want to share. I trusted him, and in the following weeks, he made-out his will—then he died—like he had planned it.

All relations, even the most distant, travelled to his island, to hear the will. And then the lawyer began reading…

“Jake, you get the toaster. Melody, you get the three-piece suit. Marilyn, you get three golf clubs.” And on and on it went…

It was worth a big laugh, but only for the family not receiving…

When it was my turn, I thought for sure, I might get something of substance, but I inherited Uncle Bill’s refrigerator, and there were several conditions…

This must replace any existing refrigerator. Don’t trade it or trash it. Never give it away. It will bring you blessings as long as you remain a bachelor. It will keep pizza fresh and your beer cold. Your loving Uncle, Bill.

It had to be shipped, and six weeks later it arrived. It took three men to move it into my third-floor apartment, where I unplugged my new refrigerator, and replaced it with Uncle Bill’s. My power bill went-up 200 dollars.

I couldn’t say no to my uncle or violate his last wish, especially when he had gone to bachelor heaven, where men play golf, and the weight of responsibility is left on earth. I had to deal with his wishes, like a debt.

To be continued…

2 thoughts on “Uncle Bill’s Bachelor Refrigerator

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