Even eight inch celery stalks shooting out of her salad can’t distract Shirley from making googly eyes at Donald. William, however, seems to be admiring the luster of his Cheviot tweed.
Who needs a carbonated beverage when hot and hunky Randy is only a meter away, and his Chanel Pour Monsieur is wafting toward you on the wings of love, mingled with the musky scent of teen athlete? Focus, Joyce, or you’ll drop your pom.
Hormones are high all around. Looks like she’s got designs on this guy.
The sight of Bill literally made Sally’s jaw fall open.
Too much nuzzling!
A’courting we shall go.
He shall be mine by nightfall. I will yet ensnare him.
What a blessing has Johann Inauen, and I don’t mean his pipe. Son Reto could not be more smitten with papa, enjoying a childhood on a small Appenzell dairy farm in Switzerland. Idyllic indeed.
We came across this fellow yesterday at a fall fest, chilling with a scarecrow he’d just stuffed. Can’t really tell a gender on a it, but the bag over its head gave it the appearance of cat ears.
Conversation was minimal. No choruses of “If I Only Had A Brain.”
Later, a beanie-donning warlock came by to discuss the possibility of using witchcraft and sorcery to bring the ‘crow to life.
Or at least give it hands and feet.
I have enough 1940s yearbooks to confirm that Sadie Hawkins dances, based on the then-popular L’il Abner strip, were a HUGE DEAL. Nowadays, not so much. In fact, my son’s high school had one scheduled earlier this month, and it was cancelled due to low ticket sales. Eight tickets, to be exact. And keep in mind, all the other dances have been packed.
What does that say about today’s youth? Aren’t women enlightened enough to ask boys to the dance? That’s the whole point of it. Or is it an outdated concept altogether, since boys now ask boys and girls ask girls? Every high school around here has its share of transgender kids who were named Katie in 8th grade and now go by Collin. Or perhaps teens just don’t like donning hillbilly garb–although I think they nixed that part long ago. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen anyone in overalls in a few decades.
In any event, the times sure have changed.
Yes, I realize we rarely read cursive anymore, and truth be told, it IS a bit of a chore to read an entire paragraph. But these words to 1941 freshman coed Betty F. make for interesting reading. First, a note from her ex to his “cute little fillie.”
Here is Betty.
Her nickname was “Tank.”
This was from her boyfriend, Dan, pouring his heart out to her, and admitting that he played his best at basketball just for her.
There’s too much to share the whole thing, but the sign-off was the best.
And this was from a boy she evidently friendzoned. However, if she were to change her mind about him, he’d return so fast, it would make her head swim.
I think we can agree that this yearbook lived up to its name.