Oft is the time I’ve enjoyed a Whitman’s Sampler; Walgreen’s always has them in supply. But what of this metal box of Loveliness? Isn’t that a fruit of the spirit? No, I forget myself. Loveliness is full of surprise centers. Forrest Gump’s mother was well-acquainted with these. I received neither last Sunday. But at least I’m not stuck on a frontier with my frock stuck in a cactus.
If this sporty specimen plays her cards right (or that tennis racket), she may be wearing his fraternity pin by the end of the day.
The gazing here is mutual.
Polka Dots gazes seductively at her date (or she is hypnotized by his choice of patterns).
And this happy camper is so mesmerized by her plaid-clad man, that she doesn’t mind the Russian immigrants kicking the back of her bus seat.
Hey, Einstein, why are you wearing ladies’ sandals? It’s the theory of RELATIVITY, not femininity.
And what about Marion Morrison, the butchest guy of all time? The virtual paragon of manhood? What is this get-up? No, I won’t mess with The Duke. After all, he said, “I don’t have to assert my virility. I think my career has shown that I’m not exactly a pantywaist.”
Okay, you two, you can keep your man cards. But it takes a REAL man to sit patiently through this.
I hope he had a steady hand…