“DARLING I MUST TELL YOU”

Opotiki News, Volume II, Issue 251, 27 October 1939, Page 6 (Supplement)

“DARLING I MUST TELL YOU”

HAVE YOU EVER KNOWN SUCH PEOPLE AS THESE GIRLS WHO BEND POOR KITTY’S EAR, AND WEEP ON HER SHOULDER?

|HE only way I see out of my present distasteful position as the next-of-ear to all my girl friends is to open a Bureau of Listening and charge a good stiff fee for my services. Then, I’ll wager, they will desert me in droves.

My doorbell rings at all hours. My telephone never ceases ringing-. I have sleepless nights and speechless days because of these “Darling-I-must-tell-you” girls. Their subjects range from beaux to bosses to beaux through cosmetics, to clothes and back again to beaux.

For the married ones ‘‘husbands” can be substituted for beaux with no damage to either. I do not object to listening to a certain amount of clothes troubles. This is something one can share with a bus full of people; and, by a certain amount of restraint in calling names, the boss situation can be gone into pretty well even in crowds. But my soul curls and I shrink to a Size Twelve at the first mention of the words: “Darling, I must tell vou what Dick said.”

I am at a loss to know why I should be imposed upon, at all times, by everyone I know, in any such manner. I am never free from the confidence-attacks of my friends and acquaintances. My telephone rings at an hour when only a research department of a radio statistical bureau would have the nerve to call. It’s some friend ’phoning to say: “I can’t sleep until I tell you what Bill said to-night.” In a panic of impatience and telephone paralysis at two o’clock in the morning, I’ve so far forgotten myself as to declare: “There’s someone at my door.”

Those friends who suppress a desire to call me at night, or who find my line busy with the woes of their more fortunate sisters,

(All names in these Short Stories are fictitious.) (Copyright.)

call me any time from seven to nine in the morning to recount the night’s exciting happenings. I often miss my shower, breakfast and sometimes my train because of these attacks.

One of my closest friends is a woman who has -laughed and loved her way through four husbands. She is now coasting while she draws a free breath and, eventually, another husband. She is charming, irresponsible and gay. Men simply flock around her. Sl>e is forever juggling her beaux, keeping from three to five in the air at all times. Daily she feels she must make a report to me on the gain or loss of each entry. She runs into my office “just in passing to see how you are”; in reality, she wants to tell me what Dick, Bob, Phil or Tommy had to say last night. She is forever asking my advice but never allows me time to give it. She dashes in to see me when' I’m ill, to sit on my bed and tell me how beastly tired, almost sick, she is. She has an ache in her chest which she’s sure is the first sign of pneumonia. Pier back aches and her entire body, from her head to her heels, is sore and so tired. She knows she is in for something serious, and do I think she should go to a hospital now? “Darling, you don’t know how miserable and ill I am,” she says. It develops that she was out until four a.m. dancing with the “most divine man.”

“Darling, we were a sensation. Everyone else left the floor when we tangoed. You know, Darling, one of those nights when I actually felt’beautiful.” ’ My illness counted for nothing. She didn’t even inquire about my ailment. For. two hours I listened to her story of the night before —how jealous Jim was each time she danced with the new man, how Jim got tighter and tighter until he finally became involved in a word battle with her dancing partner, which ended in a terrific argument between her and Jim. This battle was" now recounted round by round to me.

Any feeble effo ward her departu long-drawn breatl tired eyes or shiftii went unnot tion of “I” lava v and nothing short c man would stop t My handsomest bounced. She snap crick-in-the-back dered her nose a gayest smile. Fro he entered, I listei on my ailments s suspected any one have. Within fif wondered if I wl and decided “ytl walked out, on t| friend, to a nearbl She called me 1 tell me what a btl she and Davie I Dave) had had. I two (two!) othtfl to be with him—l so hard! I “Darling, have! such a flatterer I v\ ■ you think he me| things he says?” I At my faintly si tion that I hard! man meant ever! she countered wl ling, he has date* single night this! I listened foiß nights to their B ings, and their roB She spared me nfl brace or one larß Suddenly she I afternoon to telß man, a divine dfl night.” I I’m not sure.l don’t prefer the I tack over the I out her confiderM of the Darlinfl know - how - ml school. fl She will wakH say she- hasn’t H call me before I now that Tom iH talk to someon<H “Darling, youH fortunate you pendence and H world and yoH This, I find, is fl ning of all wifH This class of ■ are the seasoiß October, and K

then their withering wail is directed at poor Tom/for his total unreasonableness in insisting on a mink coat when a s*ible is what she wants.

I get a nightly jangle, after Tom has passed out from exhaustion, on the progress (via tears) in the miracle of turning a mink into a sable.

Again and again I’m envied because of my independence of

thought, action and finance, by these girls—with never a thought that this independence, coupled with the rent, causes me to chase the lowly rabbit for two years before catching the coat. When the season , swings around to December, these gals cry into their sable collar and my frostbitten ears over pearls vs. Palm Beach. I always urge Palm Beach for its curative value to both Tom and me.

The group of ear-benders who cause me to flee luncheons before dessert, and rush from' powder rooms with a shiny nose, are the uncertain what-would-you-do group.

The more complex confidences of this group concern that much discussed problem, “bills vs. Bills” or “The Girl pays the rent or the rent pays the girl.” I have a deep-rooted conviction that one should have at least a Grammar School diploma from the School of Experience before being allowed to practice in this School of Confidence. However, from my high-chair in the kindergarten class I frequently end such confidences by the two simple words: “Don’t brag.” • I have found nothing that is effective in choking off these attacks. Just when I feel I’ve

choked off one by the pedient of a broken two new acquaintanc same breath, ask fo phone number. Seriously, I’m opening that Bureau ing. I see no reason demand for good listc exceeds the supplj twenty-four-hour s ‘‘Listening” wouldn’t I can foresee just back to this plan of with the proper c from certain quarters worked out.

The telephone con be persuaded to char* time after the first utes —otherwise these nirig all over town wil overtime to the detri trade.

I contemplate 1 trouble here, though did anyone ever qi telephone company’s to co-operate in such —Ki