You and your imagination! You think every girl’s a dope. You think a girl goes to a party and there’s some guy, a great big lunk in a fancy striped vest, strutting around like a tiger giving you that I’m-so-handsome-you-can’t-resist-me look. And for this she’s supposed to fall flat on her face. Well, she doesn’t fall on her face. But there’s another guy in the room, way over in the corner. Maybe he’s kind of nervous and shy and perspiring a little. First, you look past him. But then you sort of sense that he’s gentle and kind and worried. That he’ll be tender with you. Nice and sweet. That’s what’s really exciting.
When it gets hot like this, you know what I do? I keep my undies in the icebox!
Hi. It’s me, don’t you remember? The tomato from upstairs.
Hey, did you ever try dunking a potato chip in champagne? It’s real crazy!
I think it’s just elegant to have an imagination. I just have no imagination at all. I have lots of other things, but I have no imagination.
Gee, no! It’s just terrible up there. That’s why I bought the electric fan. Ohh, this feels just elegant! I’m just not made for the heat. This is my first summer in New York and it’s practically killing me. You know what I tried yesterday? I tried to sleep in the bathtub. Just lying there up to my neck in cold water.
But there was something wrong with the faucet. It kept dripping. It was keeping me awake. So you know what I did? I pushed my big toe up the faucet.
The only thing was, my toe got stuck and I couldn’t get it back out again.
No, but thank goodness there was a phone in the bathroom, so I was able to call the plumber.
Oh, sure. He was very nice, even though it was Sunday, I explained the situation to him and he rushed right over.
Oh, sure! But it was sort of embarrassing.
Honestly, I almost died. There I was with a perfectly strange plumber and no polish on my toenails.
I had onions at lunch. I had garlic dressing at dinner. But he’ll never know, because I stay kissing sweet, the new Dazzledent way.
Oh, that sounds cool! I think I’ll have a glass of that. A big tall one!
It shakes me! It quakes me! It makes me feel goose-pimply all over!
I have a message for your wife.
Don’t wipe it off. If she thinks it’s cranberry sauce, tell her she’s got cherry pits in her head.
I think it’s wonderful that you’re married. I think it’s just elegant.
Of course. I mean, I wouldn’t be lying on the floor in the middle of the night in some man’s apartment drinking champagne if he wasn’t married.
Maybe if I took the little fan, put it in the icebox, then left the icebox door open, then left the bedroom door open, and soak the sheets and pillowcase in ice water… no, that’s too icky!
You’re married. I KNEW it! You LOOK married.
So, he lured me down in his apartment. He made me sit on his piano bench. Then he made me play “Chopsticks”! Then suddenly he turned on me. His eyes bulging. He was frothing at the mouth – just like the Creature from the Black Lagoon!
It was so silly. I posed for this picture and when it was published in “U.S. Camera”, they got all upset.
I was – it was one of these – ‘artistic’ pictures.
It was on a beach with some driftwood. It got Honorable Mention.
It was called ‘Textures’, because you could see three different kinds of texture: the driftwood, the sand and me. I got $25 dollars an hour, and it took hours and hours. You’d be surprised!
That’s what’s wonderful about a married man. No matter what, he can’t ask you to marry him. He’s married already. Right?
Thirty-eight? I was 22, day before yesterday. I didn’t do anything about it though. I didn’t even tell anyone. Oh, I did do one thing. I bought myself a bottle of champagne. I thought I’d just sit up there and drink it all by myself.
Oh, no! It would’ve been just elegant, lying there in a bath, drinking champagne. But I couldn’t get the bottle open.
You think you could get it open?
I’ve got a wonderful idea. Why don’t I go upstairs and get it. It’s in the icebox with the potato chips and my underwear.
