This is all right with me because I don't like looking in my dinner plate and wondering if one of Paulette's Pork Chops is looking back at me. The kid, who's always thinking of my welfare, tells me to put a lid on it before the driver cocks an ear. Gertie gives him the chill. You know I'm training with Miss Stoots to sing in opera. Dippy puts in her two cents.
Piano players end up being bums.
Now, this is coming from the mouth of a doll who spends her nights soaking up Rickenbothom's Rejuvenating Cream while flopped across the living room sofa. I don't say anything back, though, because the streetcar is rattling back and forth on the tracks so hard it's making my teeth rattle with it. The next day I'm going ploppity-plop down Faxon Avenue at the kid's heels. The kid blows away like we're playing tag. Sometimes he doesn't see the serious side of life.