Pouring out his troubles to his great and good friend over a couple of triple Martinis, Brad had to confess that things weren't going too well at home.
"My wife and I just don't hit it off at night," he was saying to Bart. "I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid I just don't know how to make her happy."
"Hell, boy," said Bart, "there's really nothing to it. Let me give you some advice. At bedtime, switch on a new Sinatra platter, turn all the lights low and spray some perfume around the room. Next tell your wife to get into her sheerest nightie; then make sure you raise the bottom window."
"Then what do I do?" asked Brad.
"Just whistle."
"Whistle?"
"That's right. I'll be waiting outside the window. When I hear you whistle, I'll come right up and finish the job."
"My wife and I just don't hit it off at night," he was saying to Bart. "I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid I just don't know how to make her happy."
"Hell, boy," said Bart, "there's really nothing to it. Let me give you some advice. At bedtime, switch on a new Sinatra platter, turn all the lights low and spray some perfume around the room. Next tell your wife to get into her sheerest nightie; then make sure you raise the bottom window."
"Then what do I do?" asked Brad.
"Just whistle."
"Whistle?"
"That's right. I'll be waiting outside the window. When I hear you whistle, I'll come right up and finish the job."
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