The Avesta, Volume 21, Number 2, Summer, 1942 Page: 15
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A Discriminating Female Airs Her
Pet Likes and Dislikes
Virginia Paty
Have them catalogued in the back of my brain, stuffed
in with a lot of other bric-a-brac I'll probably never
use-jitterbugging, geometry, Dorothy Parker, foot-
ball scores, and such.
There's always the chance, though, that there may
be a use for them in the future. These thumb-nail
sketches that infest the periodicals always include a de-
lightful category of them-and my favorite flight of
fancy ends in my getting thumb-nail-sketched.
The imaginary interviewer must necessarily be very
supercilious, so that he can be properly crestfallen when
I whip them out and parade them before him. He will
of course bestow extra-large thumb-nail space on me
after the exhibition of-my favorite peeves, my pet
hates.
With my Sunday-best pained expression, I would
probably rant first against one of my favorite banes,
the Frankensteins of the air waves-those jolly, singing
philosophers. I can endure quiz programs, musical ads,
and one-minute dramas, but my teeth grind and my fists
clench when would-be warblers cover up their lack of
range and tone with an over-supply of saccharin soup.
These creatures are named, invariably, either for some
happy personal quality-Chuckling Charlie, Laughing
Luke-or for some obscure kinship which they claim-
Uncle Josh or Cousin Clem. That kinship in itself
irritates me-my cousins don't boom out with "Hi-do,
folksies, ain't this the dag-nabbedest day? Huh, ain't
it?" At least, not very often, they don't.
In their singing they are possessed, to a man, with a
Southahn drawl and a tune-to-hell technique, partially
camouflaged by innumerable, unmentionable tricks with
the piano keyboard.
In their philosophizing -they cover every situation
with an optimistic layer of slush calculated to cheer up
every one, from bed-ridden centenarians to prattling
(Continued to page 34)AFTER exuding my lurking vindictiveness in listing
all my pet dislikes, I was most pointedly asked by
an innocent bystander, "What in the h- do you
like?"
I'm really a very calm, easy-going person with a yen
for practically everything that looks good-animal,
vegetable, or mineral. In order to reinstate my drooping
opinion of my good nature after that query, however, I
have a strong desire to list my pet likes-and I have a
score of them!
I think first of all I like Christmas. When I am nine-
ty-nine and one-half years old, I think I shall have my
grandchildren open my presents for me at five a.m.
Christmas morning, so I can hobble in and get my
Christmas thrill at five thirty-it's usually a half hour
before curiosity completely defeats me. I like the bustle;
I like the snow and the color and the four Santa
Clauses; I like to get lumpy, bumpy, mysterious pack-
ages; I like Christmas!
I like kittens-not Persian or Maltese or any of those
snooty brands-I like alley kittens with green eyes and
disgustingly bourgeois stripes. Their chins seem custom-
built for scratching and their ears take naturally to gen-
tle tweaks. They're built for service, the commoner kit-
tens-the service of being friends.
I like the kind of night-chatter which always evolves
from three in a bed. I like the extravagant feeling of
having solved the problems of the universe at two a.m.
with a couple of other people who never before showed
such gorgeous depth and insight. I like the unexpected
elbow in my ear, and the crisp reminders of an earlier
cracker snack, but most of all I like the abounding
words of wisdom. It's an indoor sport which can't be
beat-making conversation at midnight with a pair of
insomnia-minded sages.
I like to get a rush at a dance. That magic situation,
(Continued to page 35)15
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North Texas State Teachers College. The Avesta, Volume 21, Number 2, Summer, 1942, periodical, Summer 1942; Denton, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metadc2105649/m1/17/?rotate=270: accessed July 16, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting UNT Libraries Special Collections.