Love and Sweetness


Dear Miss Fluffy:

I am an old bachelor of sixty. The other night I went to a party and was requested by my hostess to escort home a very attractive young widow. When we arrived at the house she wanted to be kissed. But you know, when Jacob kissed Rachel, he lifted up his voice and wept. So of course I had to refuse as I did not want to do anything to cry about. And now she is mad and won’t talk to me. What would you advise?


Well, say, you are the limit. Nothing doing in your case. You are beyond me.

Dear Miss Fluffy:

I bane a swede feller and I work out in the County. I bane love a Dane Jane named Hilga. She’s fine girl, but when I make goo-goo eyes, she say I got a face like a pie.


Never mind your pie-face. Stick to it and win out. A pie-face ain’t so bad if you haven’t got a pudding head.

Dear Miss Fluffy:

I am a farmer from Belleville. The other day when I come to town with a load of greens, I see a girl on Washington avenue, but before I could get off the wagon and catch her she was going into a dry goods store. So I went in after her. But you never saw so many women in your life. Now, that is some fine girl and I want to marry her. She wears tan shoes and a hat like a flower pot turned upside down, with a big white feather sticking away out from the hole in the top. Please find that girl for me.


Sure, Rube. We are Sherlock Holmes and Arsene Lupin all in one. We’ll get busy on those clues. Keep up your heart.

Dear Miss Fluffy:

I wrote to Miss Libby about this, but I like your advice better. This is the case: There is a young man teacher in our High School and he has a large hooked nose and looks like a foreigner. The girls all call him Bologna. Do you think that is right?


No, it certainly is not right. Surely a lively bunch of high school girls could pull that nose into shape, if you only tried hard enough.

Dear Miss Fluffy:

It was Italia girl from Venezia and I fell in love with that Tony who keep grind all day on that Cavalliera Rusticana. The trouble all come from that monkey. He wanta scratcha me.


Say, My dear, what is the matter with shipping that monkey over to the War. They might make him a General.