Almost immediately after Gloria and I were married, I started to suffer awful allergies. For a long time doctors couldn’t determine the cause. I went from one allergist to the next to the next. But all they could tell me was my eyes swelled up, and I itched like mad. Hell! I didn’t need a medical degree to figure that one out.

Finally, some young whippersnapper, directly out of medical school, figured out I was allergic to Helena Rubenstein perfume. Gloria felt terrible. Every night before we went to bed she doused herself with the stuff.

Fortunately the diagnosis didn’t come until many years after the Koran War ended. When the Marine Corps called me up to be deployed to Korea, I had a physical. The doctor asked me about my rashes. I said, “Well, Sir, I’m allergic to things.”

He wondered if I was allergic to wool. So I answered, “Yes, Sir, I guess I am.” I figured if I was allergic to something, I must be allergic to everything.

The doctor explained that if I went to Korea, I’d have to wear a wool uniform and stamped a big “REJECT” on my paperwork. Many guys who went to Korea didn’t come back. Just thinking about them makes me itch and feel lucky.

BTW: Gloria switched to Chanel No. 5.