April 8th was the kickoff dinner of the second annual Soph Week, with an evening of frolic and festivities for students attending the “Hi-Guy, Hello-Girl” dance, where Jimmy Palmer’s band played swinging tunes. Here’s hoping we’ll all be in good form at the end of this trial, ready to sip and socialize.
As Newsweek reported when this month began:
U.S. ALCOHOL SALES INCREASE 55 PERCENT IN ONE WEEK AMID CORONAVIRUS PANDEMIC
Yes. I get that. I’ve had a few pints. But it’s not the pints I’m jonesing for.
What I want is Coke. A frosty Coke and then a refill of frosty Coke immediately afterward.
Both of their bottles.
Don’t I deserve to be “really refreshed?”
Coke is everywhere. It taunts me in the pages of my magazines and from the walls of the antique stores. Is that Jane Wyman? I don’t know. All I want is her Coke.
I don’t need two liters of Coke. That’s too big, and it loses carbonation the second you open it up.
Then again, it can’t be too small.
Now this one is just right.
Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin’ town, that toddlin’ town … ♪♫♪ No wonder they were toddling! Rolling on rubber was like skating on clouds with Chicago roller skates. This ad hails from my March 1926 issue of Child Life. You can bet they had a WAY better March than we just did. What do you make of this lantern-bearing imp?
The stock market was years away from crashing, so Easter was going to be LIT. Who wouldn’t want kraft toys of bunnies and ducks that ROLLED, just like those boss Chicago skates?
Or this disturbing gender-ambiguous amputee? What fun!
Little boys evidently wore ties when they colored and crafted. Mother, look, I dressed like Papa!
But when coloring was done, it was time to pull out the old Lanky Tinker (Tom Tinker’s cousin).
Is it me, or does that look like a frosty pint of ale, instead of motor oil?
The attendants were so thoughtful, giving lollipops to youngsters! This was before kids were diabetic, when Mom wore pearls and heels to fill ‘er up.
And Dad wasn’t left in the dark. Roy could talk shop and spill the tea. He was worse than a gossiping hen.
Even slim-hipped WWII vets can’t make three a comfortable proposition in this booth. Reaching for his Coke, he’d knock a bottle over. How is the fellow in the middle supposed to move? Can he breathe with his pal’s pipe smoke literally four inches from his face?
Hair adorned with flower, a hostess at New York’s Stage Door Canteen offers birthday cake to servicemen.
Those of you denied birthday parties may have not even received cake this year. You can’t trust the local bakery to have prepared it covid-free. Perhaps you had to make do with queso de Swiss like Senor Gonzales here.
But from all us at “I Don’t Get It,” here’s wishing you a much better 2021!